


It Runs in the Family

by rhythmantics



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Prototype (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, also i have seen 3 mcu movies and only remember half of one, i mean basically all of prototype's warnings apply, just don't worry about it and have a good time, so if characterization/timeline stuff is off....i don't care enough to fix it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-01-06 17:02:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 66,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18392606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhythmantics/pseuds/rhythmantics
Summary: A few months after the outbreak, and all of Blackwatch's dirty laundry was leaked onto the internet. As a result of the public outcry, the SHIELD was given jurisdiction over the rebuilding efforts of NYC, and the Avengers were to act as the face of their operations, to get the government out of the PR lime pit Blackwatch had thrown them into.Obviously, they had to secure the leaker, one Dana Mercer, before Blackwatch could get to her, since it was obvious she knew more than just what was leaked onto the internet. What they didn't expect to find hiding alongside her was her brother, Alex Mercer...or so he appeared to be.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so for anyone unfamiliar with Prototype, it's a grimdark game full of grimdark tropes and implications, so standard warnings for violence, gore, blood, body horror, unethical treatment of humans, unethical treatment of children, unethical treatment of viruses, etc. etc. just search up a list of warnings for Prototype and if any of that bugs you then you probably shouldn't read this fic. Otherwise, it's not really any worse than its source material, so if you're okay with Prototype, you'll most likely be fine with this. Enjoy!

It had been several months since the outbreak, and New York City was recovering. However, tragedy was followed by tribulation, at least for the US government. Only a couple months after the nuclear detonation off the shores of Manhattan, a huge .ZIP file had hit the internet from an anonymous source.

Contained within the files was a truly staggering amount of incriminating evidence against the US government, implicating it as not only complicit in the incident, but its main perpetrator. While the files themselves were posted with no commentary, they had been arranged in such a way as to tell a clear narrative - one that began with the human testing performed in Hope, Idaho, and ended with Operation FIREBREAK, which had only been averted because someone on board the ship had sacrificed themselves to fly the nuke out to sea.

The original name attached to the tragedy had become small and insignificant in the eyes of the public. Whatever his motivations had been, he was now a small piece of a massive conspiracy. His name had also only been broadcast for a few days, whereas the internet was abuzz with the data leak for months after it dropped. And try as the government might to hush it up, nothing was ever _truly_ gone from the internet. Every time they took the files down, a dozen more mirrors took their place.

Desperately trying to preserve any PR that it could, the government had more than doubled the restoration budget and sent multiple important figures to speak on NYC ground. But this was not enough to quell the public outrage, so, finally, they were forced to ask the Avengers to step in as the new face of the rebuilding efforts. As it was explained to SHIELD, it had been another group like them - Blackwatch - who had been in charge of everything detailed in the data leak, and for the most part, the government itself had scarcely known exactly what it was that Blackwatch was doing - they scarcely had the power _to_ know, even if they had asked. Therefore, it was from Blackwatch that the _real_ transfer of information was to be conducted.

Blackwatch was still around, though they’d been shuttled out of the public eye. They were the ground troops behind the red tape that still quarantined large sections of the island, and they were still the foremost experts on the virus - so their role was still a vital one, and they couldn’t be gotten rid of just to save a little public face. As a result, SHIELD was expected to work alongside them, and quickly grew irritated beyond belief.

Blackwatch was proud, stubborn, and secretive; with every possible means at their disposal, they attempted to halt the flow of any information at all in SHIELD’s direction. Blackwatch claimed that its files were _so_ classified that they had invented new words to describe how classified they were; SHIELD replied that it didn’t care. Blackwatch would claim that it was low on personnel - and, incidentally, that was why Nick was speaking to some randomly picked representative rather than the acting general or anyone else of actual consequence, and SHIELD would “offer” to bolster their numbers by sending some replacements for the vacant spots in the chain of command.

By the time Nick was able to pry the data out from Blackwatch’s stranglehold, several weeks had been wasted.

Once they had the files, however, they understood why Blackwatch had been so unwilling to part with them. They corroborated every last outlandish, horrible accusation in the data leak. In fact, these files somehow painted Blackwatch in a _worse_ light. Indeed, Blackwatch had been developing the Redlight virus for use as a biological weapon. Yes, this did involve testing on human subjects, most of which were explicitly lied to about the nature of the tests. Field reports indicated countless massacres of people who had not been confirmed Infected one way or another; internal reports indicated countless instances of firing personnel - or, rather, firing _on_ personnel and disposing of the bodies.

But what was done was done, and it was Blackwatch that was experts on containment of the virus; it was Blackwatch out in the quarantine zone, making sure nothing broke the line. As horrific as they were, they were technically on the same side as SHIELD, had the same goals. So, for the sake of peace, Nick only passed on to the Avengers what was strictly necessary for them to know, leaving out the less savory details - the dregs of the outbreak were bad enough without the Avengers harassing the ground troops keeping them in check. Even if, Nick thought, at this point he would very much like to see Blackwatch destroyed to sate his own vendetta.

However, one interesting tidbit had made it into the files Blackwatch had sent, and it was this: the identity of the leaker. The file had stated that Blackwatch had several personnel dedicated to tracking her down, but considering the sorry state they were in after losing several higher-ups (being low on personnel, SHIELD had found, was not _totally_ a lie), almost zero progress had been made.

Dana Mercer. She was the younger sibling to Alex Mercer, who had been indicated by the other files as the man who had actually unleashed the outbreak, though he’d also been confirmed “silenced.” Early on in the Infection, Dana had been marked for the same fate. Her file indicated that they had tracked her to her home and sprung an ambush - but someone else had interfered, and disappeared with her into the city. Whom she was rescued by, the file did not say. However, she had been marked as a priority target, and it was suspected that her brother had sent her everything he knew. In the confusion and chaos following the Infection, she was finally able to bring it to light - something she must have been waiting for since the information embargo had lifted.

SHIELD resolved to find her first, if only because Nick knew Blackwatch was still hiding something from them. There were several gaps in the files - a lot of deaths unaccounted for, a lot of reports that had clearly had large tracts removed before being shipped off. Raymond McMullen, the director of GENTEK and Alex Mercer’s superior, had shot himself - but the report did not indicate why. It also failed to give any information about what happened on board the USS Reagan, the circumstances of General Randall’s death, or any hints as to the identity of Operation FIREBREAK’s saboteur.

If they found Dana, Nick thought, they’d find the answers. So the Avengers had been instructed to be on the lookout as they made their publicity rounds. Access to and from the island was still under _heavy_ guard, so it was impossible for her to have left Manhattan.

But it wasn’t her that they found.

It was her brother, Alex Mercer. A dead man walking.

 

* * *

 

Steve had been the first to spot Dr. Alexander J. Mercer walking down the street, arms laden with grocery bags full to bursting. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, and, in fact, wasn’t even sure this was him - the man’s face was half-obscured by a tan hood, but for a moment he’d caught blue eyes - blue eyes he'd seen staring up at him from SHIELD's report. Terrorist? Maybe. They'd stuck with him then; he was reminded of them now. He’d called out to him - “Alex?” - and Alex had turned, sizing Steve up for half a second, before breaking off at a dead sprint, shoving pedestrians out of the way. Steve pursued, but Alex turned a corner, and when Steve caught up, the man was gone. His outfit had been iconic enough - black leather with crimson embroidery - but no one like that existed in the crowds, and Steve wondered if maybe he’d dreamed up the encounter.

But he had not.

Natasha, now given an area to work with, had managed to track down the exact grocery store those bags had come from, and sequestered a copy of their security tapes. Within only a few minutes of scrubbing through the footage, she’d found their guy. Another hour and a few other requisitions more, and she’d figured out his schedule.

He went shopping on Tuesdays. The store he frequented was 24 hour, and that came in handy for him, since he’d come in at odd hours - three in the morning, five in the afternoon, eleven at night; he clearly didn’t keep normal sleeping hours. Going through his receipts indicated he was cooking for at least two people, and he _was_ cooking - spices, raw veggies. The only things that stood out were women’s sanitary products and multivitamins - evidence, in Natasha’s eyes, that he was indeed living with his sister - and a few recurring food items that were being bought in ridiculous quantities. They seemed to go through a full box of butter and two cans of whipped cream every week and a bag of powdered sugar every two. The old-fashioned butcher’s shop down the street received similarly ridiculous orders - Alex, and whoever was staying with him, went through a full cow every twenty days. Everything was paid for in cash.

He didn’t take the subway, nor did he take the main streets. This, Natasha said, made tracking him down much more difficult. Steve asked why they couldn’t just stick around and hope to catch him again - the withering look in her eyes was enough to make him retract the statement, though she did gently explain to him afterward that they’d been spooked and were likely planning to evacuate the area soon, if they hadn’t already. If they wanted to find them, they’d have to do it now.

And she did find them. Within a few days, they’d been tracked down to their current hideaway, a dusty, run-down apartment complex in Harlem that had been slated for demolition before the outbreak. Whatever company had been planning to do so had no such plans anymore, and it was standing upright, fully intact, even as its neighbors had been reduced to metal skeletons and piles of rubble by rocket blasts that had swept through the area.

They had resolved to send Captain America in to do negotiations while everyone else was on standby just outside the building. If it was Cap, they all reasoned, the Mercer siblings might be willing to talk. The goal was to persuade Dana and her brother to come peacefully with them, and they’d figure out what to do with them from there.

Almost certainly, they were planning to offer Dana asylum - she was a _kid_ , only twenty years old; she’d been going to school at NYU for journalism when the Infection hit. There hadn’t been a single speck of shady activity up until her brother started funneling her information prior to the outbreak - at least, nothing out of the ordinary (a few warnings for trespassing, which all corresponded with her job writing tabloids) - and from this they’d come to the conclusion that she, more than anyone else involved in this incident, had been innocent. They didn’t want to know what would happen to her if Blackwatch got their hands on her, but it was pretty clear that they _wouldn’t_ hear any more from her once they did.

Her brother, meanwhile...they didn’t really know what they were planning to do with him. He had been Blackwatch personnel, lived on their payroll. The virus may have existed long before he got his hands on it, but he was part and parcel of the tragedy that had resulted. There was a reason, after all, that he’d made a break for it when he’d been found out.

They supposed they’d have to make a decision later, based on what he brought to the table.

So Steve, dressed in his spangles, had knocked on the door. Behind it, he heard footsteps, and someone pressed themselves to the fisheye lens…

...There was a crash of glass, and Tony was immediately radioing in his ear that Alex, with Dana on his back, had leapt out of the back window and was now halfway down the block.

“What?” Steve asked.

“They’re just _running_. I swear this guy is just jumping over the buildings like he’s playing leapfrog. JARVIS, how fast would you say he’s going?”

“Forty to fifty miles per hour, sir.”

“See? Not making it up.”

So Steve had squared himself up and rammed down the door, and at the other end of the room was a gaping hole in the wall from where the siblings had made their escape. This was as far as Natasha could go, but Steve took off in pursuit. Alone, he could match Alex’s speed, and it wasn’t long before the siblings were within sight, with Iron Man trailing along beside them, attempting to slow them down.

When he drew near, Alex gave him a glance and rapidly changed direction, Dana looking like she was hanging on for dear life. Actually, that wasn’t fully accurate...the truth was, she seemed to be slapping his cheek, furiously yelling something to him. As Steve got closer, he began to make out the words.

“ - don’t need to freak out so much - not even shooting at us! You - _Captain fucking America,_ do I really - “

“Hey!” Steve tried yelling. “Hey, can I ask you two to stop?”

“Convincing,” Tony’s dry voice came through the earpiece.

Steve furrowed his brow and put some extra effort into his next jump, landing in front of Alex, who skidded to a stop. Immediately, both of Steve’s hands went up in a “we come in peace” gesture, which did little to settle Alex’s glare, but at least he did seem like he was willing to hear them out.

“Uh, we just want to talk,” Steve said.

“See, I _told_ you so,” Dana said to her brother. “The Avengers aren’t like Blackwatch, man. Put me down.”

Alex hesitated, glaring up distrustfully between Steve and Tony before obliging, setting Dana on her feet. His hands were immediately balled into fists at his side, his body tense and clearly ready to move - fighting or fleeing; he seemed ready for either one.

Dana, meanwhile, seemed embarrassed, a blush on her face. “I’m so sorry about my brother,” she said. “He’s - uh, jumpy. When I told him someone was at the door he just grabbed me and ran.”

Alex, for his part, kept quiet. Tony touched down on the roof next to Steve, crossing his arms.

“We’re just gonna put aside your brother being able to leapfrog small buildings for now,” he said. “Dana Mercer?”

“Maybe.” She had a small, wry smile, and there was resignation in her tone. This was definitely her.

Tony gave the man by her side a nod. “And jumpy there, that’s big brother Alex?”

The two siblings glanced at each other, and Alex turned away.

“Depends on who’s asking,” Dana answered.

“What do you want?” Alex demanded, aggressively positioning himself between them and his sister. Dana grabbed his arm and dragged him back.

“Calm down, Alex,” she sighed. “Look, this is about the leaked files, right?”

Tony opened his mouth to speak, paused, and thought better of it. While normally he’d love to give the siblings a hard time after the hard time they’d just given him, they still technically weren’t _enemies_ , and it would probably earn him some yelling if he ended up turning them into that. So he looked to Steve and gave a brisk gesture with his head, prompting him to step forward. Steve cleared his throat.

“Yes, well...we wanted to question you about the leak, and where you got your data.”

Alex gave them a dour look. “It’s not obvious?”

“Alex, shh,” Dana warned, turning back to Steve. “Sorry about him, he’s - nevermind. I mean - listen. I can’t confirm or deny anything. If you guys know about ‘Dana Mercer,’ then you know she’s got a lot to worry about. We’re not planning to go anywhere unless we have more from _you_ about exactly where _your_ data comes from.”

At this, Tony couldn’t keep quiet anymore. “Listen, miss anonymous,” he said, stepping forward. “I appreciate your bravado, but this is less like a friendly request and more like your brother over there’s the main suspect of one of the biggest disasters the world has ever seen, so - “

“See, threats like that, right?” Dana interrupted. “That’s not really gonna help your cause right now.”

That annoyed him. “Hey, let’s not interrupt Iron Man when he’s talking, alright? You - “

“Dana, we should go,” Alex said.

Tony seemed miffed. Steve jumped in, before he could say something...regrettable.

“Look, I - I know this isn’t how you want this to go, but you have to understand we can’t just leave you like this. You’re both wanted for questioning - I guess I probably don’t need to tell you why. But this isn’t an arrest; we’re not planning to lock you in jail - we just need you to come quietly, and I promise nothing bad will happen.”

“Sorry, man,” Dana said, “but we really do need more than that.”

“Well,” Tony said, his suit shifting to reveal some glowing lights, “if you want _more_...”

“I fucking _told_ you,” Alex growled beneath his breath, dropping his stance.

“Hey, whoa whoa whoa,” Dana said, dragging at his jacket. She glared up at the two Avengers. “Look, you _do not_ want to pick a fight with us.”

“I think your brother’s pretty into the idea.”

“Tony,” Steve said, “we aren’t here to _fight_ them…”

“Dana, get back.”

“Oh my god,” she said. “Everyone just shut the hell up and listen for a second, okay! Alex, you are _not fighting Captain America and Iron Man_ . Iron Man is a dick, but they’re still _basically_ good people.”

“Then we’re running.”

“ _No_ . Listen. You _are_ going to show them what you can do, and why _they_ don’t want to pick a fight with _us_. You are _not_ going to hurt them or otherwise burn bridges with them. Got it?”

He thought about the request for a little while, as Tony and Steve prepared themselves for whatever was coming. Dana’s confidence in her brother was _unnerving_ , but so too was his quiet confidence in himself.

He scanned their surroundings, and, satisfied by something only he could see, he turned back to face them. They were in a relatively battle-scarred part of New York. It must have been near a hive at one point, and so most of the buildings still sat empty and partially destroyed, and there was no one else in sight.

Alex raised a foot and slammed it onto the ground.

The stomp itself was a much bigger impact than they were expecting. The shock of it traveled up their spines, and the sound was loud enough to make Tony wince. Cracks in the concrete spiderwebbed out from under the point of impact. The raw display of power alone was enough to be disconcerting, but what happened after that…

The building rumbled and trembled beneath their feet, and then splintered as massive, ugly black spikes erupted out of the concrete. Each one was taller than they were, and from the look of things, razor-sharp to boot - Steve shuddered to imagine being impaled even by a small one, and yet dozens and dozens were emerging from the ground, spiraling as they shot out. There they paused, the top third of the building a pincushion of hellish black spines, before, just as abruptly, the spikes were pulled back in. With the building’s structure now perforated and filled with empty gaps, it began to groan and shudder under its own weight, and, taking the cue, Steve and Tony backed up, while Alex grabbed Dana once more and leapt - agile and effortless - backwards, onto the edge of the next building over.

The complex they’d been standing on gave one last groan, and then collapsed. Taking Alex’s cue, Tony and Steve had made their way over to the next building, and for several deafening seconds, the air was filled with the sound of steel screeching against steel and cement crashing onto cement, and the billowing dust cloud thrown up by the impromptu demolition obscured their view of the two siblings. But it wasn’t like Tony and Steve were looking for them, anyway - they were far too enraptured by the sight of the building crumbling, by the memory of how quickly it had happened. Maybe that was why they didn’t realize that Alex had moved to stand behind them - but when they turned, there he was, setting Dana gently back down.

“Nice one, Alex!” She said, patting his head. “Good job! Exactly what I asked for.”

“Dana,” he said, quietly. “Stop. They’re watching.”

She gave him one last grin, before turning to the Avengers while crossing her arms, expression falling back into a grim, wry smile.

“So you see,” she said, “you _really_ don’t want to pick a fight with us.”

“...I see,” was all Tony had to say to that.

“ _But_ ,” Dana said, “we are willing to talk. The Avengers don’t have the kind of dirt on their record that Blackwatch does, and I don’t think we’d be enemies - “

“We will be,” Alex said, “once they know.”

She opted to ignore him. “ - What I mean to say is, maybe you should call us back sometime, after you’ve got your end in order.”

“How will we contact you?” Steve asked.

Dana looked to her brother, who fished around his inside jacket for a moment and pulled out a small flip phone. He tossed it to Steve in a neat arc, and Steve caught it, inspecting it.

“My idea,” Dana said, proudly. “I figured you guys would probably try to make contact as soon as Alex told me he thought Captain America recognized him on the street. It has our number saved in it. We’ll be around.”

“Wait,” Steve said, desperately trying to think of a way to hold them here. Maybe if he kept them talking? “What will you be doing in the meantime?”

Alex was already arranging her on his back.

“Oh, you know,” she said, “stuff.”

“You really think you can just _leave_?” Tony asked, exasperated. “After - “ he gestured to the still-settling rubble - “mm?”

Dana gave him a grin. “You really think you can keep up?”

And Alex threw himself into the air. Tony immediately gave chase, followed closely behind by Steve, but somehow Alex was _even faster_ than before, and they left Steve, stuck on foot, behind. He watched as they disappeared past bombed-out high-rises, Tony on their tail.

Ten minutes later, it was over. Tony’s voice came crackling through the earpiece.

“What kind of Houdini vanishing trick...”

 

* * *

 

“Thank you for _deigning_ to send us the full report,” Nick said, face set in an obvious scowl. It was surpassed only by the scowl of the man standing across from him, still clutching onto the manila folder marked TOP SECRET like it was keeping him alive.

“This information is need-to-know,” the acting Blackwatch general responded, “and you did not need to know.”

His tone conveyed clearly that he thought SHIELD _still_ didn’t need to know. But Nick had forced their hand; with the leverage of Dana’s contact and footage of Alex in action, Blackwatch had no choice but to comply with Nick’s request for information - in full this time.

“This is our jurisdiction now,” Nick said. “Not yours.”

The general said nothing, just shoved the files into Nick’s hands.

“You’ll eat those words,” he said, voice low. “And when you do, we’ll also _deign_ to let you come crawling back to us for help."

 

* * *

 

Bruce wondered how many times he had seen footage exactly like this before. Men screaming, dying. Crowds fleeing in terror - some not managing to make it in time. And at the center of it all, a raging monster. Something that could not be called human anymore.

And he wondered when the last time had been that that monster had not been him.

He sat in a video conference with the other major players in the Avengers, watching scene after scene of carnage unfold. The expressions of the others were varying levels of grim and horrified, and Bruce thought that perhaps it was a bit of a bad thing that he was the only one that still seemed to be at ease. For him, this was like a distant nightmare - a recurring dream, except that for once it was someone else recounting it, and Bruce was shocked only by how mundane it seemed.

It had been an urgent call. It seemed Nick had assembled them all the very moment he finished going through the files himself. Now, they had all seen footage from the outbreak - it hadn’t been their jurisdiction at the time, and most of them, being susceptible to infection, would have been useless anyway - and it had been surreal even then, like watching a graphic zombie apocalypse movie without characters or a plot. But here was their big-ticket monster, their guy in a big rubber suit, and Bruce had to give it to him - he had more than earned his spot as the star of the show. Nothing they’d seen yet - the horrific, mutated victims of the outbreak, Blackwatch’s ruthless approach to containment, the senseless loss of human life - held a candle to the concentrated terror encapsulated within the entity that was now wearing Alex Mercer’s skin.

ZEUS, he was called on the reports. There were a few differing accounts regarding exactly what he was. Some papers claimed Runner, others...something different, something new, something else entirely. His catalogued list of abilities was both extensive and incomplete.

Essentially, ZEUS was a shapeshifter, a mimic. Although he seemed to treat Alex Mercer as a default, he readily swapped from form to form - soldier, civilian, black, white, male, female. He didn’t seem to have any preferences, save returning to Alex Mercer as a touchstone.

Bruce could feel the mounting paranoia in the increasingly disjointed field reports. Anyone could be ZEUS, and ZEUS could be anywhere, and by the time you found out, it was almost certainly too late.

He had fully checked out of the video playback at this point, having more or less seen all he needed to see, and was now perusing the written files, building a mental profile of the monster, a timeline of events.

He watched wanton destruction become focused - tactical, even. If ZEUS had begun his rampage mindlessly destroying everything he encountered, he ended it with a cool and dispassionate cruelty - turning the tide of battle to suit his own needs, even aiding Blackwatch in their efforts to behead the infection.

By the end of the video footage, Bruce had thought that, behind the panicked records, behind the merciless killing, he was looking at an individual just as sapient, intelligent, and capable of higher-order brain functions as anyone else in the call.

Now, that didn’t mean that ZEUS wasn’t a brutal slaughterer of man, nor that the threat he posed could be ignored. But it _did_ seem like, to Bruce, that they ought to treat him like they did any other crazed supervillain - and he couldn’t even consider ZEUS particularly crazed. The civilian deaths attributed to ZEUS declined more and more as the Infection dragged on. Most surprisingly of all, the mystery saboteur of FIREBREAK was the very virus that the operation had been aiming to kill.

What had ZEUS been thinking? Alone in the helicopter that had driven the bomb out to sea, what purpose, what thoughts, had been coursing through ZEUS’s head?

This was what Bruce was quietly ruminating on as the others began to discuss what they had witnessed.

Tony was probably the most agitated, his voice sharp and quick, a smile on his face to mask how genuinely disturbed he was by the footage. He had immediately jumped in suggesting contain/kill methodology, and again Bruce was struck with déjà vu; how many times had he been the topic of exactly this discussion? He was mildly surprised when, out of all people, Nick Fury was the one shutting Tony down, tersely reminding them all that ZEUS had survived a nuclear blast, so nothing they had was actually guaranteed to work - at least not without gouging out a crater where Manhattan used to be, a price none of them were willing to pay.

“You know,” Bruce said, softly inserting himself into the conversation. “I think we can probably just talk to him.”

There was an awkward silence that followed the suggestion, and Bruce half-wished he hadn’t spoken up. He sighed to himself and continued. “I don’t see him as an imminent threat,” he explained. “Despite all this footage, in the few months since FIREBREAK he’s done nothing but shop for groceries.”

“As far as we know,” Tony said.

“That’s what I mean,” Bruce countered. “Why don’t we just try asking him some questions? How he’s doing, what he’s up to. If he can talk, he can reason...if he can reason, then I don’t see why we can’t have a conversation with him.”

“Listen, Bruce,” Tony said, exasperated. “You weren’t there, okay? This guy was totally ready to throw down with us. And he ran the moment he saw us - like, you don’t do that if you’re innocent.”

“Well, yes. I’m not saying he’s _innocent_ , Tony. I’m just saying we might be able to come to a compromise with him - and it’s not like we have any better options.”

“Hey, we found countermeasures for you, we can find countermeasures for _that._ I’ve already got a research team working on the virus - two birds, one stone.”

“Right, the research team,” Bruce said. “Wasn’t the estimated completion date something like ‘within the next two centuries’?”

Tony scowled. “We’re working on it. It might go faster if you volunteered - “

“Microbiology is hardly my field of expertise,” Bruce said, “much less virology. I’d be useless in your lab, Tony, I’ve told you this.”

“Kids,” Natasha said, “let’s refocus. What, exactly, do we have here? In all honesty, I'm having some difficulty grasping the full scope of what we’re looking at.”

“What we’re looking at,” Nick said, “is what could very well be the end of life as we know it. ZEUS is a Runner. This doesn’t mean that he’s a carrier of the virus - no, that’s the zombies, that’s the Walkers. ZEUS _is_ the virus. A walking biological time-bomb. And there’s not a shred of Alex Mercer left - the virus is in control. It has been since the start of the outbreak, when Alex Mercer released the virus on Manhattan and it infected his dying body. If ZEUS ever goes nuclear and gets off the island, we are looking at minimum of two hundred _million_ deaths. At maximum, the entirety of humans as a species.”

“But as far as we know,” Bruce added, “he’s never infected anyone.”

“It doesn’t mean it _can’t_ ,” Tony pointed out.

“And it survived a nuclear detonation?” Natasha asked.

“Otherwise, it would not still be alive,” Nick said.

Natasha fell silent, deep in thought. Next to her on the screen, Steve looked uncomfortable in his seat, ill at ease from the footage, keeping quiet as he put his thoughts in order.

Bruce sighed and rested his head on one of his hands.

“I do think,” Nick said, “even just among the Avengers, we have enough manpower to subdue it.”

ZEUS was supremely resilient, but he wasn’t _immune_ to having his body perforated with bullets or blasted with rockets. This was evidenced by the fact that, periodically, during extended fights he’d deliberately take a break from slaughtering everything in his path with wild abandon to absorb a few of his victims instead. Between Iron Man’s suits, Cap’s sheer determination, and the Hulk if need be, it _was_ plausible that they could win an extended fight, provided there weren’t too many other living creatures nearby for it to refuel with.

“I hear a ‘but,’” Tony said.

“But - “

“There it is.”

“ _But_ ,” Nick repeated. “It’s not worth the risk.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asked.

“Factor one: even though there are no records of ZEUS infecting anyone, its body _is_ still teeming with the virus. What happens if some of the bloodspray lands on a civ? Factor two: even without considering the potential loss of life, the collateral damage to the city would be astronomical. We were brought in to help the government save its reputation, not destroy it further. And factor three, we have no guarantee it would even stick around to fight.”

He gestured back to the video. “It’s easy to think of it as a brute, but its shapeshifting is a far greater concern, tactically speaking. What good is a gun if you can’t find your target? And provoking it brings us back to factors one and two. Unless we have a surefire method of dealing with it, the risks outweigh the chances of success.”

“Well, we could - “ Tony piped up, before growing quiet again, reconsidering what he was about to say. “I mean, we could…if we…”

Another few seconds of muttering to himself. Finally, he heaved a big sigh, brow furrowed.

“I’ve got nothing.”

“What about Dana?” Steve asked, his hands clasping each other tightly.

“What _about_ Dana?” Tony asked back.

“Where does she fit into all of this? I mean...if that, uh, guy, that we ran into...if that was ZEUS, then he’s not actually Dana’s brother, right? Why would he be hanging around her?”

Another long, uncomfortable silence ensued. The fact of the matter was, they didn’t know, and couldn’t even begin to guess.

“She _did_ call him Alex,” Tony mused. “You think she doesn’t know?”

“But that wouldn’t explain why ZEUS would go along with the farce,” Natasha pointed out. “Unless you think perhaps he’s getting something out of it?”

“Hold on,” Steve said. “I’ve got her number. I’m going to give her a call.”

 

* * *

 

The person on the other end picked up the phone so quickly that it didn’t even manage to finish the first ring. But there wasn’t a “hello” or a “we’ve been expecting your call” on the other end, just silence, and at first they thought that maybe they’d been ghosted.

“Uh...hello?” Steve asked.

“...Hello,” came ZEUS’s voice, dark and low, like he was reluctant to speak at all. There was a bit of muffled back-and-forth on the other end, and the sound of the phone being moved around, and then Dana’s bright voice came bubbling through the line.

“Hi, hi. Sorry about that. Who is this?”

“It’s Steve Rogers - Captain America. Dana?”

“Maybe. By the way, if you guys are planning to trace this call, we’re already on the move. So I’m telling you now - don’t bother. We’ll be long gone before you can pin us down.”

“We’re not,” Steve said, while Tony pulled a face, because he’d obviously made a request to JARVIS to do exactly that.

“Yeah, well, just saying. So, thought it over? Ready to give us your _bona fides_?”

“Our what?”

“Good faith,” Dana said, wryly. “I mean, that’s why _you’re_ calling us and not Iron Man, right?”

“I - I guess so,” Steve said, lamely. He cleared his throat. “So, um…”

“I guess I should make this easy on you,” she said. “I’m assuming you guys are getting your information from Blackwatch, since they still have a presence in the quarantine zones. That being the case, you guys ought to know that my brother and I are being hunted down like dogs, right?”

Steve’s brow furrowed at the use of the word “brother,” but he answered her question. “Yeah.”

“So, we need to know that cooperating with you puts a stop to that. As for us…”

“That brother of yours,” Tony butt in. “He’s not human, is he?”

There was a long silence on the other end.

“So you know about that, huh,” Dana said at last.

ZEUS’s voice broke through again. “Didn’t think they’d be willing to part with the files,” he commented, wryly. “Cat’s out of the bag.”

After watching ZEUS carve a bloody path through military and civilians alike, it was surreal to hear him talking. The monster in the videos was silent and unfeeling; the voice coming through the phone was human.

“If you know, too,” Tony said, “then you know why we _also_ can’t just let you two go hopping around New York.”

“Not like you can stop us.”

“Alex, shh,” Dana said. “...But yeah, I mean, if you guys plan to hunt us down, too, it’s not going to be that much different from before. That’s why we were hoping we could reach a compromise…”

“A compromise?” Steve asked.

“For that to work out, you’d need to have something we would want,” Tony added on.

Natasha gave him a pointed look, before butting in herself. “ - Which I’m sure that you do,” she said. “I would like to hear your offer.”

Dana gave a sigh. “I don’t really like it, but - “

“Information,” ZEUS said. “And access to me.”

This _did_ pique everyone’s interest, Bruce most of all.

Yes, he had been expecting the virus to be intelligent. The monster in the videos had the capacity to understand that certain weapons worked better on certain enemies, meaning it at least understood the usage of tools, which already put it several marks above most of the animal kingdom. But he hadn’t gotten his hopes up from there. It was entirely possible that its tactical decisions had been the result of following orders, that the virus didn’t have more than the ability to basically reason out the rock-paper-scissors of guns, rockets, flesh and armor. The fact that Dana Mercer seemed to have it on a leash only supported this idea...but here it was, capable of thinking through what other people would want in order to perform negotiations. From the sound of it, the offer had been the virus’s idea, as well.

“Define ‘access’,” Tony said.

“Noun. A means of - “

“No, Alex, he means ‘what kind of access’.”

“Oh.” He paused. “I’ll give you the chance to watch me. Observe my habits. No blood tests, no DNA sampling. If that stuff gets out of the lab, there’ll be trouble. But anything short of that...right now, I’m the greatest threat on the island. I know that, you know that. You’ll want every edge you can get.”

“...And if we know Blackwatch,” Dana said, “we know they’re not making things easy for you. We’re leverage, and we’re a contact. There’s not a lot we don’t know about them or about the Infection - I’m not saying we’ll share all of it, but it can’t hurt to have us on your side if there’s ever anything Blackwatch doesn’t want to give up.”

This was a harder bargain than anyone was expecting. Eyebrows went up across the room.

“...Alright,” Tony said. “And I get where you're coming from, but I can't exactly shake on only half a deal. What exactly was it that _you_ wanted to get out of this?”

“A place to stay would be nice,” Dana said.

“I want you to keep my sister safe,” said ZEUS. “That’s all.”

 

* * *

 

“I think it is _entirely reasonable_ that I don’t want to be housemates with _the deadliest virus on the planet_ , which, might I remind you, _I am not immune to_.”

“There goes all your confidence in a cure, huh, Tony?” Clint said, slightly amused.

“Two different things,” Tony said, “okay? Just because you know we can stitch you back together doesn’t mean you’d be comfortable putting your hand in the Hand Breaker 2000.”

“You don’t actually have a Hand Breaker 2000.”

“I will invent, patent, and distribute one, just for you.”

“Boys,” Natasha said. They stopped arguing when she stepped in, and she directed her next words at Tony.

“With as contagious and deadly as the virus he’s carrying is, you aren’t safe even if you aren’t housemates,” she pointed out. “This arrangement is in place to send Blackwatch a message - those two are under our protection. If Dana winds up dead or missing, we’ll know and care who’s responsible. And there’s no place better to observe ZEUS’s behaviors than somewhere JARVIS is wired into.”

“I think I’m not _crazy_ for not being crazy about this idea,” Tony insisted.

“Then don’t go visiting his floor,” Natasha shot back. “I know you’ve already hooked it up with its own ventilation system, separate from the rest of the building. And JARVIS won’t give him access to any others without his handler’s permission.”

Tony did a double-take. "I did?"

"Yeah," Natasha said, like she was talking to an idiot. "You did."

"...Well, I'm still against it."

“It’s no use, Nat,” Clint said. “He’s just mad because he found out ZEUS was the one who left all the windows smashed up during the outbreak.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Is this true?”

“It’s not - maybe a little - look, I’m just saying, _clearly_ this thing doesn’t care about private property laws or vandalism, okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Ah, screw it. When I end up as a super-zombie, you’ll all be sorry.”


	2. Chapter 2

So the deal had been ironed out, and finally the day of the move-in arrived, Steve adjusting his clothes at the door - dressed in his civvies, to try his best not to provoke the dangerous viral abomination on the other side. This time, after he knocked and someone pressed themselves against the fish-eye lens, it wasn't immediately followed by an escape attempt.

“Heya,” Dana said, cheerfully answering the door. “Glad to see you. Imagine if I answered and it was a Blackwatch jackass instead. Hey, Alex?” She turned and called into the apartment room (Steve tried not to show his concern about her calling it by her brother's name). A shuffling noise emanated from inside the building, and ZEUS appeared with two suitcases stacked over his shoulder and a backpack in his other hand.

“Is that...all your luggage?” Steve asked. It wasn't a lot for two people.

“Yeah, we’re poor,” Dana said, shrugging. “Honestly, I've never actually owned much more than this. Let's go - this place fuckin’ sucks, man, it's all moldy and gross.”

“Y...yeah,” Steve said, as she pushed past him into the hallway. ZEUS shuffled after her.

“You want me to help with some of that?” Steve asked him.

“I’m fine,” ZEUS said, stiffly, pulling ahead with a brisk gait.

The black, armored car was loaded and Dana and ZEUS piled into the the backseat, while Steve took the driver's. Clint was already waiting for them in the passenger side seat, much to Dana's disappointment - she'd wanted to ride shotgun. Steve, at least, could tell Dana was tense, and that her cheerful, carefree act was just for show - and ZEUS wasn't even trying to hide it, his head turning to look up and down the street, hovering in front of Dana, following her inside the car only after he was sure it was safe.

The drive wasn't too long, but the traffic was bad at this time of day, so they found themselves buried deeply in a thick, uncomfortable silence until Steve cleared his throat and tried to make small talk. Since they'd be living together for the next foreseeable future, he might as well get to know them. Dana, at least, seemed like a normal person, so he thought he could at least give it a shot.

“So are you two...uh, excited for the new place? Not a lot of people get to see the inside of our tower, but it's nice.”

“Anything's nicer than the places we've been living the past few months,” Dana answered, sardonically. “I'm looking forward to, like, working heating. And clean sheets.”

“Well, there'll be plenty of those,” Steve said, awkwardly. “And, um...you go by Alex?”

When the virus answered, he sounded bitter. “Look, you can call me ZEUS if you want. I know you're only bringing us to live with you so that when you find a way to kill me you don't have to go looking.”

“He goes by Alex,” Dana clarified, elbowing him. “And he is a _sourpuss_.”

“Right,” Steve said. “So, Alex, um…what have you been up to these past few months?”

“Doing the military's job for them,” he said, gruffly. “Cleaning up the infection while they're not watching.”

Steve turned to Clint and furrowed his brow. Clint, taking the cue, spoke up for the first time.

“Really? Why?”

Alex glared at him. “Or you could say ‘thanks.’”

Dana elbowed him. “Stop being _rude_ ,” she hissed. “This is why they think they need to kill you.”

“Nothing I say's gonna change their mind, why bother? Besides, I'm not the one being rude.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are too!”

“Am not!”

“Kids,” Clint said, managing to stifle a smile, “can we not fight in the car?”

“I'm not a kid,” Dana huffed, crossing her arms. “...But Alex sure is.”

“Not this again,” the virus groaned.

“I need to let them know so they can lay down some ground rules,” she said, with a wicked grin. “So my brother here, right, he was born just a few months ago. So you can't give him alcohol until he turns 21, and his curfew is 8:30pm, and honey's really bad for infants, so he can't have any honey - “

“Dana. I'm begging you. Shut up.”

“ - And don't let him watch anything PG-13!” Dana finished, triumphant, and the virus buried its face in its hands.

Steve raised an eyebrow. Even though she knew he was some kind of...gross monster wearing her brother's corpse, they were bickering as if they'd been raised together. Steve wondered if she'd ever seen him in action - if she did, would she be so casual about shoving his shoulder to emphasize her point?

...But, seriously, every shove and elbowing on her end looked like she was genuinely throwing her all into it. On a normal human, those friendly gestures would definitely have left bruises.

After that, small talk with Dana was pretty easy - she was a bright young girl who was also clearly trying to normalize the situation, and she had lots to say about the state of the government and of the city, once Steve got her going on those topics. Alex largely ignored the conversation, opting instead to stare out the window, so it was easy to ignore him in turn.

“What are you thinking about?” Clint asked, quietly, as Steve and Dana were happily chatting away.

“We are moving so _slow_ ,” Alex growled. “I could have been there and back twice by now if you'd let me go on foot. How do you stand being inside these things?”

“How fast can you run?”

“Zero to eighty in three seconds.”

“Wow,” Clint said, awkwardly. “That's pretty impressive.”

“New Yorkers don't drive,” Alex said. Clint wasn't sure if he was making a joke or not, so he let the conversation die. Alex seemed pretty happy to oblige.

Finally, Stark Tower pulled into view, its sweeping silhouette looming above them, and Steve pulled up to the curb, where Natasha was already waiting for them. Alex was out the door before the vehicle had rolled to a stop, which caused some minor panic among everyone gathered until he moved for the trunk and pulled out their luggage.

“Let me help you with that,” Clint said, reaching for a bag before Steve had time to stop him, and Alex quickly jumped away, out of his grasp.

“Don't - “ he almost snapped, before forcing himself to calm down and use a less volatile tone. “Don't touch it. There's really fragile stuff in here and it'd be very, very bad if it breaks.”

“Fragile stuff?” Natasha asked, narrowing her eyes. “Like what?”

“Microscope. Petri dishes.”

Steve suddenly realized that it may have been a mistake not to check the contents of their luggage.

“...What's inside the petri dishes?” Natasha asked again, and before Alex could answer, Dana jumped in.

“It's his, um, hobby,” she said, quickly. “He bought a kit online and, uh, he likes to - whenever we go to a new restaurant or store, he likes to take a swab - under the tables, in the kitchen if he can sneak in - and see what bacteria is growing there.”

“And fungus,” Alex added.

No one said anything as they tried to process this.

“It's, um, like Pokémon,” Dana said, sheepishly.

“...Right,” Natasha said. “So why is it very, very bad if it gets out?”

Dana did not manage to stop her brother in time.

“One of the samples has anthrax,” he said. “Can we go now?”

And he pushed past them for the front door, forcing them to scramble to keep up with him (at a safe distance) before they could ask any further questions.

 

* * *

 

The two had been given a two-bedroom suite with a kitchen and living room space, already kitted out with appliances and furniture, in the hopes that providing all necessary amenities would discourage them from trying to leave. Dana was immediately enamored, throwing herself onto the new furniture like she'd never seen anything like it before.

“Wow, Alex, it's better than your old apartment!”

“How do you know? You've never been.”

“I googled their website, took some virtual tours." She ran her hand reverently across the marble kitchen island. "The _price_ , though. How much do you think this place's street value is?”

He looked around. “Six thousand a month, easy. Not counting it being a famous landmark.”

“And we get to live here for how long?”

“Until they figure out how to kill me.”

“ _Forever_ ,” Dana giggled. “Can you believe it?”

It was pretty chilling how absolutely sure she seemed of her brother's invulnerability, but the virus then said something none of them were expecting.

“I'm glad you're happy, Dana.”

And he sounded like he _meant_ it, too.

“I want the room on the right,” the virus said.

“Sure, sure.”

He set the top suitcase and backpack down on the ground near the sofa, and wheeled his into one of the bedrooms. He re-emerged without putting anything away, standing in the doorway with his best glower.

“So now what?” He asked the heroes, arms crossed. “You guys just gonna stand around?”

“Alex, rude!” Dana said, from where she had thrown herself onto the couch.

Steve coughed. “Right, uh, well. The full list  is pinned to the fridge, but we should probably do some ground rules...basically, you get the whole floor. There’s a gym and a theater room down the hall. Dana, you’re free to leave the building without an escort, but Alex, if you want to go anywhere besides this floor, you're going to need supervision.”

“Right,” Alex said. He seemed unhappy about this, but didn't fight it. “So who's my handler?”

“His plane got delayed. He'll be here by dinner. I guess we'll - leave you two to unpack, then. Natasha's gonna be sticking around in the hallway, so let her know if you need anything.” He scratched the back of his head. “And, um, there’s a Wal-Mart about a block to the north, if you need to go shopping. That's all. We'll get you guys for dinner. Gonna be a big meet and greet, get you settled in. Any questions?”

“No,” Alex said. He turned and slipped back into his room.

“Sorry about my brother,” Dana said, with a pained expression. “You guys are free to stay if you like, he's just...like that. I promise he's a big softie on the inside.”

“Softie” wasn't really a word Steve would associate with a world-ending threat like the virus, but sure.

“Do you need any help with your luggage?” Natasha finally asked, breaking the awkward silence. Dana brightened immediately.

“Yeah, I’d love some help. I was gonna ask Alex, but he's sulking now. And, uh, would any of you be willing to run down to Wal-Mart with me? You probably won't believe it, but Alex is an _amazing_ cook. You guys should come over to our place for dinner sometime. You won't regret it.”

 

* * *

 

Dinner was the next big hurdle. Usually Avengers dinners were fun - good food, alcohol, laughter - but this time around, no matter how much Pepper and Dana tried to get their respective men to play nice, nothing seemed to be able to penetrate the cold chill settling between Alex and Tony's glares.

“So, germs. You can eat caviar, right? Or are you strictly a humanitarian?”

“Alex,” Dana hissed, preemptively.

His gaze lingering on his sister, Alex only gave a noncommittal grunt.

“He can eat,” Dana said.

“Good, good. But he's got a preference, right? If so, sorry we couldn't provide for our - _guest_. It's hard to buy people off the market, you know, free-range, organic - “

“It's not,” Alex said, coldly.

Everyone looked concerned, so he clarified. “New York has a trafficking problem.”

“Right…” Tony said, before clearing his throat and keeping on. “So you're a humanitarian in _both_ senses of the word, huh? Care about the issues plaguing us poor human beings?” He got no response, so he tried to prompt one. “Hm, ZEUS?”

“Tony,” Pepper said, pained, “he goes by Alex.”

“Aw, come on, Pepper, don't give it a _real_ name, you'll get attached.”

Steve ate his dinner and wished very hard he wasn't here. Alex himself didn't actually seem too bothered by Tony's comments, but, then, he'd arrived surly and sat down surly, so maybe it was more just that he hadn't been expecting anything else. He didn't touch his food, which Dana had ladled onto his plate, and had his arms folded as he sat back in his chair.

“So, common cold. There's some stuff in your file I wanted to confirm with you, if you don't mind.”

Alex closed his eyes. “Shoot.”

“How many have you killed?”

“Tony!”

“Almost 11,000.”

“Alex!”

“No, let him speak,” Tony said, genially. “That's bigger than the Blackwatch report.”

“Blackwatch doesn't know shit.”

“Oh? What else don't they know?”

“How not to release a virus that nearly wiped out Manhattan on Manhattan,” Alex said, coldly.

 _Eleven thousand._ That was a staggering number. Well, the Blackwatch estimate was also staggering, so it wasn't too much of a surprise, but...to be several thousand off…

“If I'm not mistaken, that was you, though, wasn't it? Or, well, the guy you took the name and face of, anyway.”

“Alex Mercer was GENTEK. GENTEK was Blackwatch. Blackwatch set everything in motion, were planning to nuke the city the moment MOTHER wasn't recoverable anymore to cover up their involvement. They could have prevented all of this.”

“Um,” Steve broke in, nervously. “How do you know that?”

Alex looked away. “I know _lots_ of things.”

“Didn't actually answer the question there, buddy,” Tony said.

“Didn't realize I was obliged to,” Alex retorted. “I’m doing you a favor answering what I am. Take it or leave it.”

“Wow, it understands the concept of _favors_ ,” Tony said, happily. “Hey, Virusgate, can you get him to lie down and beg?”

She glared at him. “All due respect, fuck off, Mr. Stark.”

“Yeesh, touchy,” Tony said, grinning. “So why is he keeping you around, then? You the next hive queen when he decides to go Pandemic on us? Or - “

Quickly - too fast for anyone to properly react - Steve's only warning had been a slight ripple across ZEUS's shirt, and he was only just barely out of his seat before the virus moved - Tony found an enormous bladed arm stopped millimeters away from his throat.

“I’m fair game,” the virus growled. “My sister is _not_.”

Said sister was panicking, out of her seat, tugging at his jacket with all her strength and completely failing to get him to sit down. “Alex, oh my god,” she whispered. “Sit the fuck back down. _Please_.”

Tony just tried to move the blade out of the way with his finger, only to find it held completely steady. He narrowed his eyes. “...Got it.”

And with that, the arm practically melted back into a human hand, and at Dana's insistence, Alex finally sat back down in his seat.

“You can't leave until you finish your food and thank the chef,” she whispered to him, furtively.

Alex looked at her, and then to the table, and then he brought up his fist and smashed it into his plate, the hand erupting into black and red tendrils that caught every piece of organic material sent flying, reeling them back in toward the body before reforming into bones and flesh and skin, leaving a shattered ceramic plate entirely wiped clean.

“Thanks for the food,” he said, coldly. “Compliments to the chef.”

Then he got up, turned around, and left.

 

* * *

 

 

Alex did not leave the room for a week.

Dana was, in comparison, a busy bee - always in and out of the building, using her new allowance to buy everything she'd wanted when she had no money at all, and her room as well as the shared living room became personalized in no time, a Blu-Ray reader hooked up to the TV and blankets and pillows strewn all over the floor. Despite these splurges, she proved to actually be a very frugal person - half the items, she'd managed to sniff out huge deals for, and she came to the store armed with coupons - so it didn't embitter anyone how much she was spending.

The only times Alex ever peeked his head out of his own room was to cook and clean. The first thing he'd done after settling in had been ferreting out all the surveillance cameras set up in his and Dana's bedrooms, before standing in the kitchen for several minutes staring pointedly into one of the cameras there. The action was a clear message: he'd allow surveillance, but only on _his_ terms. While Tony had mused aloud about reinstalling cameras, with Alex perennially locked up inside his own room, no one had the guts to actually _try_.

They - Steve and Natasha - took up Dana's offer/apology to try Alex's cooking, and he was, actually, a stellar chef, much to their surprise. However, if he was cold before, he was subzero now. Dana claimed she'd talked to him, to make sure what happened during dinner wouldn't happen again, and evidently, Alex had decided the only way to ensure that was to say nothing at all.

He was human-shaped just enough that you could let down your guard around him, but he wasn't human, and the more Steve watched, the more this became apparent. The fact that he hadn’t actually hurt anyone during dinner, and that a lot of the blame really did lie on Tony's shoulders for deliberately provoking him, were points in his favor; even so, they were dealing with a tiger in a cage - angry, feral, and liable to bite if you got too close.

His movements were always too - precise. Now, Steve was no stranger to watching supermen move, but Alex was something else. It was less as though he was hiding rippling strength, and more as though he was consciously mimicking standard human movement. Opening refrigerator doors, for example - he clearly had enough strength to simply yank it off its hinges, but instead, he took the time to plant his feet and act like he was putting his weight behind the action. If he opened a door a million times, Steve was sure he'd do it the exact same way each time.

He was also far too steady. Even Steve’s body had involuntary twitches and trembles - even Natasha's trained gun hand had a little sway. But when Alex was still, he was a statue, and he rarely sat down. It was uncomfortable just looking at him - a human that held themselves that stiffly was sure to suffer from cramps, but Steve had never seen him “relaxed” at all.

Tony was never allowed past the door. Every time he showed up to attempt amends in his usual Tony way, the door was slammed on him before he could even speak. Not that anyone really blamed Dana, but it became pretty clear that she had a brother complex, and while she was free to criticize and lambast her adopted sibling as much as she wanted, no one else was allowed to. She revealed, casually, that Alex already didn't care about what had happened at dinner, and so it was all simply Dana's personal vendetta.

But with Alex silent, Tony spurned at the door, and Dana acting as a shield between her “brother” and the rest of the heroes, there was little more they could do but wait and see.

And then Alex asked for his handler.

 

* * *

 

JARVIS had immediately notified everyone when ZEUS had stepped out of his room for the first time in a week, and walked down the hall to the next-door apartment and knocked. A few seconds later, Bruce Banner peeked out from the door, his expression surprised and his clothes clearly hastily thrown on.

“Hi,” he said, awkwardly.

“Dr. Banner. I need to go shopping.”

“Oh, okay,” he said, absentmindedly. “Uh, right now?”

“Is there a problem with right now?”

“No, not really, um - give me one second, let me put my shoes on, and we’ll be right out.”

A few minutes later, and Bruce was jogging to keep up  with ZEUS as the virus stalked down the hall.

“Where are we - what are you shopping for?” He asked, and the virus looked him up and down before answering. He got the distinct, unpleasant sense that he was being gauged, and ZEUS only bothered to answer when he had deemed Bruce to be harmless.

“I need a refrigerator for my room,” he said. “Dana wants me to stop using our shared fridge now that we've got money and space.”

“Oh, alright,” Bruce said, nodding as they entered the elevator. "Is there something in particular she wants you to stop putting in it?"

ZEUS paused, thinking it over, before answering. "Could be the black mold."

"Black mold?"

"Or the botulin. Or the anthracis. She just said she wanted it _out_."

 

* * *

 

To be honest, Bruce didn't really mind the virus as much as everyone else did. Sure, the footage of it tearing a bloody path across Manhattan was horrifying, and Bruce had to agree that it was a tremendous enough threat that they ought to find some way to kill or contain it, but it was still better than watching himself - or a version of himself - tear similar swathes of destruction across city blocks. As far as he could tell, the virus was entirely sentient, intelligent, and in control of its abilities. Maybe it didn't value human life as much as maybe the humans would like, and sure, it was an asshole on top of that, but overall his impression of it remained relatively neutral. In Bruce's eyes, ZEUS seemed like he could be left to his own devices, and wouldn't really be more of a problem than the average superpowered human even then.

Well, he was at least wrong about how close to average the virus was in terms of thought process, as was proven to him relatively early on. Bruce suggested the subway, but the virus had refused. “I want to stretch my legs,” he'd said.

“But the nearest appliance store is several miles away,” Bruce said. “By the time we get there on foot, it'll be closed.”

So the virus had simply picked him up and arranged him on its back and instructed him, coldly, to hold on tight, and then had taken off running.

As soon as it spotted a building made of brick rather than metal, it had run up one of the walls and landed on the roof, not pausing for a second as it continued at a breakneck pace up and down walls and across the tops of the buildings. The whole time, it seemed careful of sudden changes in velocity, using its own body to cushion Bruce's after every major fall, so while the ride was relatively smooth, it WAS supremely nauseating.

Since they were traveling as the crow flies and at roughly forty, forty-five miles per hour, it only took them a few minutes before they reached the SEARS, and Alex slid down an alleyway, hopping from wall to wall to break their fall. Dirty as the ground was, Bruce could almost kiss it.

“Are you alright?” Alex asked, stiffly. It seemed more like a courtesy than an actual question.

“Yeah, I, uh. Are we going back the same way?”

“No,” Alex said. “I can’t carry you and a refrigerator at the same time without breaking one. We can take the subway. Or walk.”

“Uh, how about we just get them to deliver the fridge, and also take the subway?”

Alex seemed unhappy. “It's so slow.”

“What, the delivery service?”

“The subway,” Alex said. “I guess we can. Dunno. Kinda weird to have one of you suggest it considering the history the virus has with subways.”

“Oh, huh, yeah,” Bruce said. “The original ground zero was Penn Station, wasn't it? I guess I wasn’t thinking about it.”

Alex's expression seemed to soften just a little, but he turned and stalked out of the alley anyway. “Come on. I looked up the models I'd like online, but I need to see them in action before I can decide.”

 

* * *

 

Alex was both very picky and very knowledgeable on the subject of refrigerators, apparently, as it took them almost until closing to settle on one to be shipped back to the tower. It ended up being a stainless steel model used by high-end restaurants, with variable temperature and humidity controls, backup power cell in case of electrical failure, and easy-to-disassemble parts for cleaning. To the salespeople showing them around, Alex had been curt but not outright _rude_ , though on several occasions he interrupted their sales pitches to cut straight to the technical specifications. He paid via debit card, everything checked out, and it was scheduled for next-day delivery with a two-year warranty.

As promised, Alex let them take the subway home, though by that point Bruce was tired enough that he might not have minded being carried since he was liable to pass out halfway through. The virus looked ill at ease crowded around by so many people, but he didn't complain, instead huddling in his corner and trying not to touch anyone.

It was on the walk back to the towers that Bruce tried to engage him in conversation again.

“Hey, so, I heard something about you apparently keeping bacteria samples for fun?”

“Yeah,” Alex said, and then, a little quieter (sheepish?), “it's kiddie stuff, though. Just growing them on high-school grade agar. I don't think you'd be impressed.”

“Maybe not, but I'm still interested,” Bruce said, because he was: the irony of a supervirus growing bacteria samples for fun was too good to believe without seeing with his own eyes. “If you'd let me, I'd love to see them.”

“Alright,” Alex said. “But I have a question for you.”

“Sure.”

“Why are _you_ in charge of me?”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean,” Alex said, “you're Dr. Bruce Banner. I'm familiar with your work. It seems like a waste of personnel to put you on babysitting duty. I don't see what you guys are playing at.”

So the virus didn't know…? Bruce had to admit it was kind of nice, actually. To be known for his scientific prowess for once, rather than for his penchant for rampaging.

“I just want to live a quiet life,” he settled on saying. “I don't want to get wrapped up in SHIELD stuff. But even if I try to disappear, they'll just find me and harass me. I told them I'd do this job if, in exchange, I'm exempt from all the others they might have lined up for me.”

The virus seemed to accept this explanation. “I can relate.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“You can _ask_ ,” Alex said. “I’m only answering what I want to answer, though.”

“Yeah, sure. You really don't have any plans at all to...you know, destroy the human race? I mean, even after your sister - well, I don't mean any insult, just that she's got a natural life span. So…”

Alex shrugged noncommittally. “It's probably not the answer you want to hear, but...I don't know. For now, as long as Dana's safe, I don't really care about anything else. But people change. They change their minds about stuff all the time. So I can't say yes, I can't say no.”

He paused for a moment, thinking.

“For what it's worth...plugging into the hivemind is like a bad trip. I don't like doing it. So I think if I ever do...go ‘Pandemic,’ it's probably because I've got a good damn reason.”

“Huh,” Bruce said, curious. “But I thought the virus's natural state was that of a hive mind. Why do you hate it?”

“Let’s just say I'm...a ‘unique case'." He narrowed his eyes. "I don't want to answer any more questions."

"Right, right," Bruce said, not pressing the issue. He could relate to the feeling of not wanting to be probed. Since he was tired, too, the silence settling between them on the walk home was actually relatively comfortable. He'd almost forgotten he'd offered to take a look at Alex's samples, until Alex had reminded him once they'd reached their floor.

 

* * *

 

Slowly, Bruce was checking off all the entries on his mental list of questions about the virus.

Did it have higher-order brain functions? Yes, absolutely. That much was made obvious by the thorough refrigerator purchase and its installation several days later, when Alex had stepped back once it was up and running and mused aloud that he probably _could_ have carried both it and Bruce home at the same time, if he’d put Bruce _inside_ the refrigerator.

So yes, higher-order thought processes confirmed. The virus was capable of logical thought and reaching new conclusions based on preexisting facts.

The first time he’d been over, Alex’s room had been sparsely decorated, though Bruce suspected it had been deliberately cleared of decoration prior to his arrival. There were small scuff marks on the wall that matched the corners of his bedposts if they’d been pressed up lengthwise against it. Considering how much time Alex spent in his room, Bruce highly doubted that the whole of it was spent on furniture tetris, so likely a computer or some books or something had been put away in a deliberate attempt to hide information. This was confirmed when Alex fished out a laptop from behind the nightstand.

This time, however, things had been returned to…”normal,” Bruce supposed. The bed, wardrobe, vanity and nightstand had been stacked up against a wall, and a few pieces of paper decorated the one opposite - some MRI scans, a photo of Alex and Dana standing together in Central Park - Alex with a glum expression and Dana with a bright smile, printed cheaply and with poor quality - and on the desk, a big whiteboard, well-used, and a glass aquarium with a science experiment inside.

The virus's samples had been neatly organized - much neater than Bruce had been expecting. The way they had been described to him, in his mind's eye he'd been picturing sloppy petri dishes half-open, infecting all the other food in the refrigerator. Instead, they were labelled, dated, and the dangerous samples even had hand-drawn biohazard symbols marking them, had their edges hermetically sealed with tape. On Alex's laptop was also a clean compilation of every sample, including location, date, time of day, and progress photos. It was a fascinating catalog, if nothing else.

But besides the sparse decoration and these petri dishes, Alex had almost nothing to his name.

“You really don’t own much, huh?” Bruce asked, turning a little glass dish around in his hands. This one was harmless, just some normal mold and fungus from the front door of a Chinese restaurant, but it was colorful, and, visually, Bruce's favorite.

“Don’t need much,” Alex answered, tersely.

“Owning isn’t always about needing,” Bruce said. “Though...I understand what it’s like.”

“What what’s like?”

“Living on the run for a while and then finally settling down. It almost feels like you can’t actually _afford_ to own anything, right? The moment you do, it weighs you down.”

Alex narrowed his eyes. Bruce wondered if maybe he’d been a little too forthright about his past.

“...That is what it feels like,” Alex settled on saying, turning away.

So, check two, feelings. Bruce had suspected it, but it was nice to have confirmation - Alex himself emoted so little and was so brutally practical that it was, at times, difficult to tell.

“I don’t know how my sister does it,” Alex said, looking out through the door at the living room, now thoroughly decked-out. “That room, it’s pretty normal. She tells me not to fold the blankets all the way, that she likes keeping them a bit messy for ‘flavor’.”

There it was again, “sister.” He’d been insistent on the terminology since he got here, and Dana had been equally insistent that Alex was her brother. It was pretty obviously some kind of landmine, so no one had been willing to ask (except Tony, though it wasn’t like these two listened to him), but it was a very curious point.

Natasha had asked the rest of the Avengers once what ZEUS got out of keeping up the - well, “farce” was a bit of a strong word, but the point was clear. Why did they keep pretending to be siblings when both of them knew this wasn’t the case? The longer Bruce watched, the more he thought that it was possibly...sheer desperation. In a world that wanted the both of them dead, they had only each other; this was a relatively expected response from a girl only twenty years old, but it was supremely interesting to see that the virus had reciprocated the sentiment.

“Are you staying for dinner?” Alex asked, suddenly. “Dana said to invite you.”

“Oh, uh...well, if you’ll have me.”

“I don’t care. Do you have any allergies?”

“No, I’m fine eating anything.”

Alex nodded. “Makes it easier.”

“Say,” Bruce said, “about Dana…”

Alex visibly tensed, his gaze turning sharp, but he let Bruce finish.

“You said she was a journalism major?”

“...Yeah?”

“We found some of the tabloids she wrote before the outbreak hit,” Bruce said. “They’re rather brutal, huh?”

“‘That’s why they pay me the big bucks.’ Her words.” He seemed to relax a bit. “She’s good at it.”

“What does she want to do with her degree?”

Alex mulled it over. “...She hasn’t really talked about it since the outbreak,” he said. “But I think she always wanted to travel.”

Bruce nodded. “Yes, I suppose the infection put a pretty big dent in everyone’s plans. What about you?”

“...What about _you_?” It was a transparent attempt to dodge, but their unspoken agreement was that neither would pry too deeply in to the circumstances of the other. Bruce wondered why he’d refused to answer - because he was too honest and would reveal his evil plots? Or just because he hadn’t put enough thought into it to give a proper answer? In any case, the ball had been tossed to him - Bruce just sighed.

“I’m already done with heart-stopping adventures and excitement. For me, it’d be nice to just settle down. Maybe I could write textbooks for a living.”

“Impossible. It doesn’t pay well enough.”

Bruce laughed. “Yes, that’s true. Well, writing textbooks and selling autographed bunsen burners on the internet, then. How’s that?”

“You’d need some starting capital to get the business off the ground,” Alex pointed out.

“Oh dear. Retirement is harder than I thought it would be. What would you suggest?”

“Sell photos of Tony and Steve, and use the money to buy the bunsen burners.”

Bruce gave a loud laugh at that. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’m serious,” Alex huffed. “They’re more marketable than you are. The residual cash flow from the bunsen burner idea could work, but you’d need advertising and startup funds. Lots of people like Captain America.”

Bruce was still stifling his laughter. “And you don’t?”

“He’s alright. Dana likes him. And I could probably kill him if I needed to.”

“Well, don’t do that. He’s something of the nation’s darling.” Bruce leaned forward. “Say, do you make a plan to kill everyone you meet?”

“It’s everyone I meet who makes a plan to kill me,” Alex said.

How brilliant. “Touché.” He cocked his head. “Even me?”

Alex stared down at him, that odd, alien intellect ticking behind his eyes. His answer was immediate, cold, and thorough.

“You’re weak, famous. A deliberate attempt to get my guard down. You’ve got access to me, more than anyone else. Would have to be fast-acting, but once you were confident in - something paralyzing, or something that’ll kill me near-instantly - I’m looking at a needle jabbed into my back.” He looked down, narrowed his eyes. “And without me leveraging Dana’s stay, she’ll wind up out in Blackwatch’s crosshairs again. I won’t fall for something this obvious twice.”

The virus became agitated as his rant continued. It was a small change, but some vulnerability had leaked through - up until now, Bruce had largely only seen Alex speak in either a guarded, clipped, angry tone, or mumble to himself - the word that stuck out to him was “twice.”

So, check three: the virus was not only capable of emotion, but he was capable of _complex_ emotion. Not just hurt, but betrayal. Concern over the well-being of someone else. And the ingrained confidence, only gained by trial, that the world was a hostile and unfriendly place, that smiles and open arms were hollow myths.

To the sister that had stuck with him this far, Bruce could now see why the virus had clung to her in equal measure. What a human response.

What a relatable feeling.

After all, Bruce understood well how the virus felt, as it glared down at him with distrust. Wasn’t it ridiculous for something so powerful to be filled with so much fear? But Bruce knew, better than anyone, what flitted behind those cold blue eyes.

Words of assurance were wasted efforts; anyone could _say_ they didn’t mind, didn’t care, didn’t have plans brewing to deal with you. So, instead, Bruce gave him a fact.

“There is not enough money in the world that could convince me to tangle with you,” Bruce said, “and money’s all Tony can offer me.”

Alex scoffed, though he did seem to calm from his earlier agitation.

“Still got my eye on you,” he said.

“Sure,” Bruce said, casually. “You said you were familiar with my work, right?”

“Yeah,” Alex said. “Kind of hard not to be.”

“Well, it might interest you to know that I ended up doing some follow-up trials for one of my medical papers,” Bruce said. “Off the books, and not in a clinical trial, and it’s entirely unpublishable, but I think I might have discovered a new alternative for Vincristine.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, though it’s actually kind of a long story…”

“I have time,” Alex said. “Tell me about it.”


	3. Chapter 3

Dana was delighted to find that her brother was finally getting along with someone besides herself, and while she was a bit too young and a bit too humanities-focused for Bruce to really keep up with, his impression of her was largely positive - a bright, fiery firecracker of a girl, who was likely to go far if given the opportunity. She chatted excitedly about the declining state of the government, about politics and economics, and while she insisted that it was her brother - her _older_ brother (she never referred to him by name) - who had inherited all the smarts, clearly, she wasn't too far behind.  


Meanwhile, Bruce and Alex were continuing their slow, amicable relationship. Alex was moody and broody and scary, but in the entire time Bruce had known him - which, granted, was not too long - Alex had done nothing to him. With Dana now here to explain away some of his less endearing quirks, somehow, Alex began to grow less and less dangerous in Bruce's eyes.

She liked to joke that he was her “baby” brother, but once when they were alone, she’d confided in Bruce that it was only half-joking. He was gullible and trusting to a fault - if you showed him even a lick of kindness, he’d do anything you asked - and he was prone to tantrums and long sulks. He was also constantly plagued by identity issues, constantly worried that he wasn't fully a being of his own, that he didn't have a real, original personality...basically, he had a lot of baggage. But, as Dana explained, wasn't that only natural?  


“He's literally only been conscious for a few months,” Dana said. “And in those few months, the number of people who didn't want him dead or locked up like a lab rat can be counted on one hand. I mean, I hate to say it, but that hasn't really changed. They shot him, tried to blow him up, poisoned him, called him names...I mean, I'm biased. I know. But can you really blame him for being thorny?”

“Guess not,” Bruce said. In all fairness, he thought, ZEUS did kill about eleven thousand people. So the retaliation wasn't entirely unwarranted. But he could imagine that formative experiences like that would have a negative impact on anyone's behavior, even a sentient virus. During the Outbreak, life and death were cheap. And the Outbreak, up until very recently, was all that Alex had known.  


“And trust me, he’s - basically nothing like my older brother," Dana explained. "For one thing, that asshole was  _ allergic _ to chores, but Alex cooks and cleans like he's trying to get on the front cover of  _ Housewives _ Magazine. I keep trying to tell him this, but I think maybe he likes brooding.”

“Was it hard?" Bruce asked. "Getting used to him?”

She heaved a long sigh. “Can I be honest with you? Sometimes, it still is. I mean, he's wearing my dead brother's face and name, for chrissake. But I think he deserves someone to stick up for him. I mean, he's just a kid.”

“I'm not ‘just a kid,’” Alex sniffed, startling both of them. Neither had heard him approach - it was like he was suddenly just there, materialized out of thin air.

“Jesus  _ fuck _ , Alex,” Dana said, “would it  _ kill _ you to have  _ footsteps _ ?”

“...Sorry,” he'd replied.

It seemed Alex had accepted Bruce into his circle of trustworthiness after the second time they'd looked at his bacterial samples together, as he looked - not  _ happy _ , Alex's face seemed set in a permanent scowl - but, well, not unglad that Bruce was there, to share in his weird hobby. The more they talked, the more apparent the quirks in his behavior, underneath his stone-cold stoicism, became. Dana liked to call these quirks "adorable," though that was not the term Bruce would use. "Awkward, but somewhat endearing," maybe. They were also pretty funny to see in action.  


For example, his constant little apologies, which were always extremely sincere, but said so flatly one could almost mistake him for being sarcastic. Sneaking up on someone, “sorry.” Startling people by popping out claws to cook with, “sorry.” Accidentally start rambling on how frail and breakable humans were, “sorry.” Same tone of voice each time.  


Oh, and that was another quirk, which Bruce was sure was horribly off-putting to everyone else, was how  _ morbid _ Alex was. He was prone to rants. As expected from someone whose few months of life were largely colored by death, despair, and the city crumbling around them, Alex’s go-to topics were usually pretty dark. He liked to ramble about how tenuous the concept of an identity was, or go on long, meandering monologues about the horrible depths to which mankind will sink in the name of progress...stuff like that. If you didn't know him very well, it was easy to mistake these as warning signs, veiled threats. But for Dana, who _did_ know him well, they were just hopelessly melodramatic. Emo was a word she liked to use. Her brother was just emo at his core, so even if he was harmless (sort of), he'd probably never give up on his Shakespearean outlook on life.  


Actually, Bruce found it kind of refreshing how honest and straightforward Alex was. Of course, the virus wasn't telling Bruce everything, but then he was also hiding secrets from the virus. There wasn't any bullshit between them - if Alex was willing to answer, he gave the truth; if he wasn't willing to answer, he stonewalled. 

“Do you regret killing all those people?”

“Sometimes. Probably not as much as I should.”

And that line had revealed so much about his character - “should.” How much “should” a world-ending virus care about human lives? The estimated death toll, if Alex went nuclear, was well into the tens of millions. And yet - “should.” 

Bruce could hardly call him harmless, the same way he could never call himself harmless. But every further interaction he had with Alex only seemed to paint the virus less like the Monster of Manhattan and more like a sad, grumpy bear. He liked his sister, he liked his bacterial samples, and he liked running very, very fast, which, unfortunately, Bruce was even growing used to.

"It's...like how a dog or cat owner would feel," Alex had tried to explain once. 

"Nobody in the world but you would treat something as dangerous as _Bacillus anthracis_ like a pet," Bruce had shot back, amused.

"That's not true." A pause. "Well, maybe. The original Alex Mercer, he - thought of the virus kind of like...a parent? And their kid."

Ah, the elusive "original," which even Dana was hesitant to bring up. It was actually kind of heartwarming how hard she tried to make the virus feel welcomed, even if her efforts were entirely wasted on him.

"Alex Mercer," Bruce mused. "Somehow, the name was familiar even before the outbreak."

"That so?" Alex thought for a bit. "Well, you might know him from his dissertation, then. It was what got him hired."

"Ah, maybe. He was a geneticist, right? That's close enough to my field that I might have seen it."

"Yeah. 'Theoretical immune-bypassing rhinovirus genetic manipulation for use in virotherapy.'" He didn't trip over a single word. "That's what it was."

"...Immune-bypassing...you mean, that was him?"

Alex cocked his head. "You've heard of it?"

More like, who hadn't? The paper had outlined a - a gain-of-function experiment, one that would, at its conclusion, create a strain of the common cold that was capable of slipping entirely past the immune system altogether. One of the biggest hurdles in the field of virotherapy was, after all, getting past the immune response - so the impacts of a virus that could completely bypass it were huge. If he had to compare it to something, it would be like the discovery of benzene's chemical structure, which had supposedly come to Kekulé in a dream. While the paper was entirely hypothetical - and ultimately impractical - it was still a portent of incredible things to come.

"It was - an enormous paper. Really. I think the entire community was waiting to see what the author would do next, but then - poof. He vanished."

"Got hired," Alex said, nodding. "Well, it had a lot of problems. I don't think he was satisfied with it..."

"I suppose he did end up doing 'great things' after all," Bruce mused, bitterly. "He disappears after expectations had mounted that he would save countless lives, and instead he manufactures a virus that could - ah, I'm sorry, Alex. If you want to move on from the topic - "

"It's fine," Alex said. "That's the truth. In the end, he was good at his job...but he's dead now."

"...Yes, I suppose he is."

"And I'm alive."

More of that melodrama. Bruce smiled and patted his arm. "Yes, you are."

Alex nodded, like he'd conveyed some profound truth, and went back to preparing slides for Bruce to look at under the microscope. In the end, while Alex was a terrifying monster, he wasn't really what Bruce would call unpredictable, unreasonable, or even really that dangerous. Actually, between the two of them, he thought maybe apropos Alex's inability to grasp any social structure outside of military rank and his general "you don't bother me, I don't bother you" attitude, if he really put his mind to it, Bruce might be more dangerous even _without_ the Hulk.

But no one else would believe it.

The others would check in with Dana from time to time, and Alex would hide away like a wounded cat. Even if they managed to catch him in the middle of one of his chores, he did his best to ignore them entirely. To the others, it seemed obvious that the virus resented them and wanted them gone, but to Bruce and Dana it was more like he didn't trust himself not to fuck up. Safer, then, to say nothing at all. It didn't really bother Bruce too much either way, but Dana was clearly worried about the fact that their opinion of him seemed to drop each time, so Bruce resolved to make a token effort to do something about it. Just one, and if it couldn't be helped, it couldn't be helped.

“I think,” Bruce said, pointing to one of Alex's least dangerous samples, “you should go out there and show them that and talk about it.”

Alex turned to him with mild alarm. “What?”

“Yeah, I don't see how you could screw that one up since it's a unilaterally good thing. Just - let them know you're working on it, tell them what it does. Even if you embarrass yourself, I think it'll be a step up from where your reputation currently is.”

“...They won't think it's boring?”

“If it's you doing the presenting, I don't think anyone would find it boring, Alex,” Bruce said. “I'll go with you.”

“...Alright,” the virus said, unconvinced.

 

* * *

 

“Uh, hey, Alex,” Dana said, cracking an awkward smile. Next to her were Steve and Natasha, who visibly stiffened as Alex entered the room. “We were just talking about you.”

“I know,” Alex said, setting the glass box down on the table. Bruce gave a hopeless sigh and settled into an empty corner of the sofa, while Alex remained standing, hands clenched at his sides.

“So, Alex?” Bruce prompted. 

“Dr. Banner told me to show everyone what I was working on.”

Natasha and Steve leaned forward, concern creasing their brows. What sat in the glass aquarium was...some kind of deflated orb, covered in fuzz. Upon closer inspection, they realized it was -

“Mold,” Natasha said. “Is that some kind of fruit?”

“It's cantaloupe,” Alex nodded. “But the important part is the mold.”

“Oh, yeah?” Steve asked, trying his best to be polite. “What, um. What about the mold?”

“The green patches are penicillium,” Alex said. “They make penicillin. An antibiotic. It uses it to kill and eat other microbes...it was discovered in 1929 on accident by Alexander Fleming. And then in 1946 they found a strain that grows in cantaloupes that produces more than any other. I grew some. You can touch it if you want but you should wash your hands afterward.”

“I’m good, thanks,” Natasha said.

“Um, me too,” Steve echoed. Dana just sighed. 

“Alex here is working on growing a strain with more efficiency than the current medically-available strain,” Bruce jumped in, in an attempt to salvage this. “Isn't that right, Alex?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Hold on.”

He stalked back into his room and re-emerged with a wall-mounted whiteboard and dry erase marker. He cleared off the notes with his hand and began write, a sequence of small, scribbled doodles and sharp, neat letters that meant absolutely nothing to the non-scientists in the room.

“So this,” he said, “is how penicillium normally produces penicillin. It shows up in times of stress, as the secondary metabolite…”

 

* * *

 

Within three hours, everyone but Bruce had fallen asleep at the couch. Dana had been first to succumb, and the only one to have properly wrapped up in a blanket and pillows, since she’d recognized what was happening the moment Alex pulled out the whiteboard and she knew her afternoon was shot. Natasha and Steve, too scared by the supervirus to leave the lecture, had nodded off around the end of the second hour, leaving only Banner and JARVIS nodding along to Alex’s outline on how to edit the genes in his penicillium sample into something five percent more efficient than the current industry strain.

For Banner, this was fascinating, truly. He'd been schooled in bio, but predominantly biochem and biomed, which mostly really dealt with the effects of penicillin  _ after _ it had already been produced. But Alex Mercer and his protégé had been schooled on genetics with a focus on microbial biology, and so - gruff as the virus was, he could be considered an expert in a field Bruce was not, and their hangouts often became extremely technical.

“...But it is all just theory,” Alex finished, after a half-hour of furious back-and-forth ironing out details. “Since I don't have a lab, equipment, or access to the cultures I'd need.”

“What would you say if I  _ got _ you a lab?” Bruce asked. “Hypothetically.”

“Well…” Alex said. “I would probably wonder why you'd go so far for me.”

“Then maybe don't think of it as being for you,” Bruce said. He tapped the glass of the moldy cantaloupe aquarium. “Think of it as being for this.”

Alex considered it, and nodded. “A lab would be good,” he said. He was pretty allergic to the words “thank you,” so Bruce prompted him.

“Alex...'thank you' are not poisonous words.”

Alex hesitated.  


“Thanks,” he said, in a small voice. 

He hadn't sat down all this time, his body tireless and always held stiffly, combat ready, but it was only now that he looked around and saw the sleeping forms of the other two avengers. His brow creased, and he stepped - silently - across the room to a small basket filled with blankets, fished two out, and carefully arranged them over Steve and Natasha, a delicate touch so as not to wake them. Then, with his head, he gestured toward the door, and Bruce followed him outside.

“Natasha is a light sleeper,” he commented, once they were outside. “She woke up the moment the blanket made contact.”

“Really? I didn’t notice.”

“She hid it pretty well, but she twitched. Still, if she's that tired, we might as well give them privacy.”

Bruce didn't feel like saying the truth - that their discussion had bored the others into unconsciousness - out loud.

“So where are you planning to go?”

“Manhattan. I want to show you an acquaintance. Well...more like I want to show you  _ to _ an acquaintance.”

“An acquaintance?”

“He's a doctor. He helped me out during...the whole thing. We didn’t tell you about him because we were worried what you would do to him - if Blackwatch knew we were in contact, they'd probably use him as leverage or force him to work with them. Ex-GENTEK, he left when he couldn't stomach what they were doing with Blacklight. He's a good man.”

“Oh, alright,” Bruce said, a little at a loss for words. Was this what Dana had meant about Alex being far too trusting for his own good? It had to be. “And you want us to meet because…?”

“Well, you're famous,” Alex said. “I think he'd be really excited to meet you.”

“You're showing me off?”

“I've been thinking how to pay him back for his help. He won't accept money and I don't have much else. So...yeah. A little. Do you mind?”

If it was anyone else, Bruce thought he might. He hated being treated as an exhibit or sideshow most of all. But there was something very innocent about this request - Alex wanted to introduce him to a fan, basically, as a show of gratitude - and, well, a doctor that ZEUS had been working with? Bruce had to admit he was curious.

“As long as it doesn't become a regular thing, I guess it's fine,” Bruce settled on saying.

“No need to worry about that,” Alex mumbled. “I don't have any other friends.”

 

* * *

 

Bruce wasn't really sure what he was expecting from a doctor that had treated ZEUS, but somehow, he wasn't expecting an actual  _ doctor _ . Working at an actual  _ hospital _ . But here they were, in St. Peter's in the north side of Manhattan, asking for access to the morgue.

“Alex. Mercer. Can you call Dr. Ragland and tell him Alex is here to see him? He'll know who I am.”

The front desk representative was a small, mousey woman, and she nodded in mild apprehension of the tall, hooded, angry man. After a few minutes of waiting, the doors opened, and Ragland - clearly still in the middle of something, dressed in dirty scrubs, walked out.

“Alex, is something the matter?”

“No,” Alex said, and the other man’s shoulders sagged and he sighed. 

“Then why are you here? I thought I told you not to interrupt me at work.”

“I wanted to introduce you to someone,” Alex said. He stepped to the side so Ragland could see Bruce. “Dr. Ragland, this is Dr. Bruce Banner. Bruce, Bradley Ragland.”

Ragland narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the virus. “Bruce Banner?  _ The _ Bruce Banner?”

“Uh, yeah, that's me,” Bruce said, waving awkwardly. “Fourth smartest man in the world, or...something.”

Dr. Ragland gaped, staring between him and Alex and back, before heaving another deep sigh.

“Why couldn't you wait until I got off work,” he muttered, before clearing his throat. “Dr. Banner, it's an honor to meet you, but I’m up to my knees in an autopsy. Can I ask you two to come back in about an hour?”

“I don’t have anywhere to be,” Bruce shrugged. “Alex?”

“Alright. One hour, Ragland.”

“Good to see the good life hasn't changed you, Alex,” Ragland said. “Thanks for stopping by. I'll get wrapped up and see you two soon.”

 

* * *

 

“ - And he was rude about it, worst of all. ‘Move your ass or I'll leave you here,’ I think it was.”

“Come on, that was  _ one _ time,” Alex huffed. “And you  _ were _ moving slow.”

“We can't all be superpowered viral constructs,” Ragland said, reaching over the table for the plate of ribs. “Besides,  _ I _ saved  _ your _ ass, didn't I? You could stand to be more grateful.”

“I'm already paying for this meal,” Alex said, morosely.

“And I accept the gesture,” Ragland responded. He offered the plate to Banner. “Ribs?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Bruce said. 

This visit was actually quite nice. Ragland was, in fact, a good man, with a sharp wit and a good sense of humor. In fact, he was very  _ normal _ , which made the fact that he was ZEUS's contact all the more mystifying. 

“So how do you know Alex?” Bruce asked.

“He showed up at my door one day with a parasitic cancer weapon on his back. Just dragged himself in like an injured stray,” Ragland answered. “Helped him cure the nasty thing, then I hear a nuke goes off out at sea and I figured I wouldn't be seeing him again. Imagine my surprise when he came back to check on his sister - she was comatose at the time, fighting off the infection in her blood - but, well, I guess he’s like a cockroach.”

“I’m right here,” Alex said, without venom.

“So his sister  _ was _ infected?”

“About how much about the virus do you know?” Ragland asked.

“I read the Blackwatch files,” Bruce said. “Though Alex tells me they're very incomplete.”

“Oh yes. I dunno what Blackwatch scientists were doing, but there's a reason they subcontracted a third party to do the actual research for them. GENTEK are the guys who actually knew what was going on with the virus, but the survivors of that are, well...you're looking at them.” He chewed and swallowed. “Anyway, she'd been kidnapped by Elizabeth Greene. If you have Blackwatch's files, you might know Greene as codename MOTHER. I think Greene figured out that her DNA was close enough to Alex Mercer's that she could turn Dana into a Runner. Alex managed to retrieve her before the infection could really take hold, but things were looking rocky there for a while.”

What a story. Bruce's eyes widened, almost worried whether or not they should be telling this sort of thing to him. After all, _none_ of this was in the Blackwatch reports, and it was probably of very high importance that Dana had _once been_ infected...but when he looked at how nonchalantly Alex was treating the whole situation, in the end Bruce just didn't have the heart to betray his trust over something like this. After all, they _had_ tested Dana properly before they'd brought her in, and she was clean of the virus. If it ever became _important_ that she'd contracted it once, then Bruce would have no choice but to tell the truth he'd been given, but until that point, there wasn't any harm in keeping quiet. So he figured he'd sate his scientific curiosity instead.

“Oh, wow. How’d you stymie the infection?”

From what he'd heard, it was a very difficult task. There now existed antibodies that could help fight it off if it was caught before symptoms erupted, but even then the success rate was only 60%, and the first appearance of a rash spelled doom. 

Ragland turned to Alex.

“I,” he said, “...I plugged into the hivemind. Took it over, temporarily...used that to buy us some time while we figured out how to fight it.”

“After that was a  _ lot  _ of sleepless nights,” Ragland said. “A  _ lot _ of coffee. We went through how many bags?”

“ _ You _ went through four,” Alex answered.

“Oh, right, because you're a horrible monster who doesn't drink God's black gift to man,” Ragland said, humorously. “But, yes. Many sleepless nights later, we developed the B336 antibodies - the ones being used right now. Alex delivered them in secret to every major hospital after we verified their effects, and I think they all got in a fight trying to claim ownership, but that was us.”

“It was mostly you,” Alex said. “I was pretty useless.”

“He was pacing a hole in the floor around his sister. Couldn't calm down. Pulled claws on me a few times, even. But - “ Ragland rapped Alex’s head. “He's got a lot of raw knowledge rattling around up there. I wouldn't have been able to do anything without him as my personal database. So group effort, still.”

And you're not afraid of him? Bruce wanted to ask. Even now, he was still careful of sudden movements around Alex, afraid of the repercussions of startling him. 

“So how about you, Dr. Banner? How do you know our boy Alex?”

“Oh, I guess I’m like his handler for SHIELD. He doesn't leave the building without me.”

“SHIELD, huh?” Ragland asked, smiling. “Look at you go, Alex. Finally getting recognized for the good you did.”

“It’s not like that, Ragland,” Alex said, sourly. “They want me dead just as much as Blackwatch. They're just smart enough to know they can't risk brute-forcing it.”

Ragland's face fell, and he turned to Bruce with concern. “You guys do know he stopped a nuke from hitting Manhattan, right? And he did tell you about developing B336, right? Alex, you did tell them, didn't you?”

“It wouldn't have mattered,” he said, hollowly. “Look, Ragland, I appreciate it, but I'm a threat, plain and simple. No amount of good deeds is gonna change that.”

Ragland frowned. “Well, that's rotten. Alex did more to combat the infection than anyone in the government, Blackwatch or otherwise, combined. I can't believe they  _ still _ want you dead.”

“Did he?” Bruce asked. “I wasn’t aware of this.”

Ragland started, but Alex cut him off.

“I killed a lot of people, Dr. Banner,” he said. “A lot of them didn't deserve it. A lot of them did. A lot of it was personal. A lot of it wasn't. The full story is, I started out looking for revenge. I ended up just not wanting innocent people to die. It doesn't balance out."

Ragland was still frowning, but there wasn't much he could say to that. “Still rotten,” he finally settled on. “The whole thing.”

“Yeah.”

“Well...whatever.” He sighed, but was determined to keep the dinner cheerful. “So Dr. Banner. Knowing Alex, he's giving you a hard time. Have any stories? You're in sympathetic company, here.”

“Well,” Bruce said, putting aside his thoughts for now to follow Ragland's lead, “there was this time he almost killed a mugger while I was riding on his back…”

 

* * *

 

Bruce and Bradley exchanged contact information and parted amicably, and left the restaurant in opposite directions. Once Bradley was out of sight, Alex turned to ask Bruce a question.

“Can I leave you here for - about an hour?”

Bruce furrowed his brow. “Why?”

“I, um.” Alex looked down. “I’d like to go hunting. The south side of Manhattan is still an infected zone, and I haven’t had a - a live meal in a while. I'd take you, but if you got bitten or - you know…”

“Do you...have to? Hunt, I mean.”

“No,” Alex said. “I grow cancer cultures in my body. I can sustain myself pretty indefinitely off of that and ‘normal’ food. But I guess...it's instinct. To want live prey. I figured, since we were in the area…and the Infected won't last forever. When they dry up, I probably won't be able to hunt anytime soon.”

Bruce pursed his lips. It wasn’t really that he thought Alex was lying to him, and while he was mildly put off by the “instinct” part of Alex's explanation, that wasn't really what was bothering him, either. If he had to say, it was…

“I’m going to tell you...the truth,” Bruce said, quietly. “The real reason your handler is a frail, science-y type like me is because...well. You know the Hulk?”

“Yeah?”

“That's me,” Bruce confided. “Or, that's me when I get mad and lose control. You’d probably be halfway through slicing me open and he’d catch your claws. The Avengers don't think they have anything that can  _ stop  _ you, but...they think the Hulk can slow you down. Keep you busy ‘til the cavalry arrives.”

“...I see,” Alex said. It was impossible to tell from his tone of voice how he felt about that knowledge.

“Sorry for not telling you earlier,” Bruce said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess I kind of liked being treated like a scientist first. Haven't had a lot of that in the Avengers. Made me feel a bit like my old self.”

“You don't like being the Hulk?” Alex asked.

“It was never my choice to make,” Bruce said. “I'm not really conscious for it, either. It's like - a monster lives inside of me. I’ve gotten better control, but he's still there.”

“...So, you're probably immune to the virus, then,” Alex said, picking Bruce up and slinging him over his back. “Well, I was worried for nothing.”

“What - Alex - whoa!”

And just like that, they were off, leaping over rooftops with reckless abandon.

“I - wasn't - quite - finished,” Bruce yelled, between lurching leaps. 

“What? It's not like anything changed.” Alex said, bounding easily across Manhattan. 

“Uh, usually people get worried for their safety - “

“Even if you pound me into paste or rip me in half, that's barely enough to slow me down,” Alex pointed out.

Bruce didn't really have a response to that.

In no time at all, they penetrated the quarantine line, and Alex set Bruce down on a high rooftop checking their surroundings to make sure it was safe.

“Yell if something comes after you,” Alex said.

“Wait. You’re really - okay?”

“Should I not be?” Alex asked. “Anything I say would be pot calling the kettle black. And...I relate. I'm about to go indulge my inner monster right now.” He looked down at the streets, covered in shambling, grotesque, mutated zombies. “You, uh, might not want to watch.”

His jacket rippled and morphed into cruel spikes and shiny, two-foot claws, which he flexed once, twice, before he leapt off the roof and down into the fray. Bruce peeked over the edge of the building once before deciding that he'd gotten enough of watching Alex in action from the Blackwatch footage. 

Yeah, he thought, if anything in the world was qualified to not be worried in the slightest that he had actually been the Hulk the entire time, it was probably the monster carving a bloody path through the ruined, infected city below. He tried his best to block out the sound of inhuman screeching as the Hunters arrived to defend their hive.

 

* * *

 

About twenty minutes later, Alex returned, his claw arms morphing back into hands and, in general, looking completely the same as when he’d leapt into the fight, not a hair out of place. 

“Hey,” Bruce said. Alex didn't say anything, just looked him up and down.

“You really  _ aren't _ infected,” he said, nodding. “That’s good. Ready to go?”

“Shouldn't I be decontaminated first?” 

“Here. I can take care of that.”

He held out a hand and Bruce took it, noting that Alex was feverishly warm - only for a second, because the hand exploded into black tendrils that worked their way across Bruce’s body, and it took all his self-control to staunch the heavy beating of his heart as they swept over his face. It lasted only a few seconds, but it was a terrifying few seconds, and dangerous for the both of them.

“Hey, next time, don’t do that without warning,” Bruce said. “Big green guy comes out,  _ lots  _ of ouches for everyone.”

“...Sorry,” Alex said. 

“Whatever. Let's get out of here.”

Proving he’d learned nothing at all, Alex acquiesced by picking Bruce up and jumping away.

* * *

“You want to give him a  _ what _ ?” Tony asked, flabbergasted. “Okay, let's sit back and think about this for a while. The world's deadliest virus, who is sentient, wants to use a spare laboratory, do I read you?”

“No,” Bruce said, “ _ I  _ want to give  _ him _ a spare laboratory to use. It was my idea.”

“Does the virus have mind-control powers? First his sister, now you.  _ Why  _ would I give him a lab?”

“Well answer me this, Tony,” Bruce argued. “Why  _ not _ give him a lab? What's the worst that can happen?”

“Uh, I dunno, but he's already demonstrated he's more than happy to  _ bring anthrax _ into the building,” Tony pointed out. “And just because he ‘inherited’ lab protocol from his PhD science daddy does not mean he's actually been trained to use our equipment. What happens if he engineers, like, super-anthrax and vents it in the building?”

“Ah-hah,” Bruce said, happily. 

“‘Ah-hah’ what. I don't like the way you said that.”

“Well, think about it, Tony. He's already the deadliest virus known to man, with a 99.99% fatality rate after infection. Any super-bacteria he produces would still pale in comparison to Alex himself. He's  _ already _ as bad as it can get. Giving him a lab won't make it worse.”

“That,” Tony said, “is a  _ horrible _ argument and I am  _ angry _ that I don’t have a rebuttal. Fine. In that case, tell me why we  _ should _ give him a lab. Why we should waste resources on giving this guy a hobby.”

“Did Natasha and Steve not tell you?”

“Not tell me what?”

“What Alex was talking about to them last time they were over.”

“Uh, no. They mostly just said he was really... _ boring. _ ”

“Oh,” Bruce said, expression falling a bit. “Nothing about penicillium?”

“What  _ about _ penicillium?”

“Well, okay. So, Alex thinks he can make a strain that's five percent more efficient than the current industry standard.”

Tony paused to mull this over.

“Five percent? You really think he can do it?”

“Well, only one way to find out, right?”


	4. Chapter 4

Tuesday, five-fifteen PM. Dana Mercer had gone out to a food festival in Midtown and probably wouldn’t be back until after eight. That gave Natasha about three hours, give or take - she’d confirmed that Bruce had gone directly back to his room after work, so he was unlikely to be a factor.

She knocked on the door and relaxed her body, tucking one hand into the pocket of the casual grey tracksuit she’d put on for today.

Almost instantly, Alex had opened it, peering down at her with a stony glare.

“Natasha.”

“Hey, Alex,” she said, peering around his body. “Is Dana there?”

“No. What do you want?”

She squinted, feigning curiosity. “Where’s she at, then?”

“The Midtown Rib Fest.”

“Oh, what, that’s today?”

He was growing impatient. “What do you want with her?”

Natasha held up a plastic bag full of DVDs. “She lent me these last time I was over; since I finished watching them, I thought I’d like to talk about them with her. When’s she gonna be back?”

“Dunno,” Alex said. “Just text her and ask. I’ll tell her you came over.”

He tried to shut the door on her, but she managed to block it by jamming her foot in to stop it closing. Alex was using enough force to slam it, so this was maybe not...the smartest way to do it, but he stopped just short of enough force to actually fracture or break something. Still, in civilian shoes, it was definitely enough to bruise. Natasha’s eyes narrowed, and she forced herself to take in a quick, hissing breath, to simulate a wince of pain.

“What?” Alex asked, the word coming out clipped.

“If it’s only gonna be a few hours, can’t I hang out here? I mean - my place is a mess right now, and if I go back I’ll _have_ to clean it.” This was true - she’d messed it up herself, to make sure her alibi held water. “Be complicit in my procrastination?”

He glared at her, distrust clear in his eyes, but moved aside to let her in. As always, the apartment was spotless, save for the artfully messy blankets and pillows all over the living room couches. Natasha did not doubt that she could eat off the floor here. The only things she’d ever seen Alex get up to in person were cook and clean and give Steve the cold shoulder.

That was the other major reason she’d picked _now_ to visit - Alex kept a pretty tight schedule, and he liked to clean as soon as he got back from work. Indeed, he went right back to wiping off shelves and dusting as Natasha made herself comfortable and turned on the TV.

See, according to Bruce and Dana he was actually quite friendly. Well, according to Bruce, anyway; Dana phrased it more like that he was alright once you got to know him. Tony liked to say that he had mind-control powers, and poor weak-willed Bruce had been entirely enthralled, and Natasha mostly just got the impression that he was very frigid and potentially sub-human.

Somewhere within that broad spectrum was the truth, and Natasha was curious. She had believed he wasn’t infectious, barring a crime of passion, since there simply was no tactical benefit in having waited this long. And the virus in the reports _did_ have tactics, albeit crude ones. To his credit, though, as strong as he was, there were few problems that brute force could not solve.

However, the fact that the _possibility_ was always there, coupled with the threat against Tony’s life and Alex’s obvious outward discomfort, had lead to her keeping her distance, at least until he’d settled in a bit. While he never did seem to be more at ease in general, he _was_ getting along with Bruce, so she figured that now was as good a time as ever to snoop.

“Hey,” he called out. She glanced up at him.

“Yeah?”

“I texted Dana. She says she’ll be back around eight-thirty.”

“Works for me,” Natasha said. It was pretty curious that she hadn’t _seen_ him pull out a phone and text her, but then, he probably already knew what time she’d be getting back. “I - “

“Do you need me to make you dinner?”

Natasha was about to say that she’d already eaten prior to coming here, but switched tracks. “I was just about to ask if you guys had anything to eat. Yeah, I’d be really grateful; your cooking’s better than most fancy restaurants. Thank you.”

“Dana said I should offer,” he mumbled. “So don’t mention it.”

She gave him a smile to convey her good intentions - though they seemed lost on him - and then turned back to the TV, organizing in her head what she already knew of his behaviour. Firstly, he took anything Dana said very seriously. He turned to her for direction over anyone else; Dana had mentioned before that he was clingy and that she’d been taking trips alone to try and break him of his dependence on her.

It was a good thing, then, that Dana herself was entirely reasonable, relatively moral, and not a bad person. Natasha got the feeling that she fronted a lot more righteousness and bravery than she actually possessed in order to set a good example; whenever they chatted alone, Dana revealed a cutthroat attitude that she normally kept hidden. It was, in her words, dog-eat-dog out there - but for Alex’s sake, she wanted to try and show him something better than what she’d had.

“Do you ever wish he wasn’t around?”

“Don’t even ask me that, man. Dick move to both of us.”

It couldn’t be easy.

The second thing she’d come to understand about him was that he came across as more frigid than he actually meant to. Their exchange at the door, by normal standards, had been supremely unfriendly, and it would have been a fair assessment on the outside to deduce that Alex hated her very guts, but that wasn’t the case. Natasha’s current belief was that he was indifferent to her, but that his behavior was skewed such that indifference read as outward hostility. She wondered, then, if towards Bruce, whom he actually liked, he acted like he was indifferent.

And third, that he was quite bad at acting human. Natasha would have immediately pegged him for someone who’d grown up in a laboratory or training camp if she hadn’t known the truth. That assessment still wouldn’t account for some of his weirdness in affect, but that was the level of missing socialization that they were dealing with. His face didn’t move right, his body didn’t move right, his voice didn’t lilt right; all of it was odd or missing. It was good enough of an act to make a layperson think he was stiff and uncomfortable; to her, it was one warning bell after another.

The problem with him was two-pronged, Natasha thought. The first, that she didn’t know what he was really thinking, and so had no frame of reference for what behaviors corresponded to what thoughts. The second, that his act seemed almost compulsory - she didn’t know if he knew anything _but_ acting.

“Hey, Alex,” she said, leaning back so she could see him over the couch.

“What?”

“Is it a bother for me to be here?”

A pause. “I’m not bothered.”

“That’s good,” she said. “You know, it’s crazy. I’m here pretty often, but we never get a chance to actually talk.”

“Yeah.”

She frowned at him. “You _sound_ bothered.”

“I’m not.”

“Yeah, but you _sound_ like it.”

“I am starting to get bothered.”

She snorted. “Fair enough. Sorry.”

Another long pause.

“No, I’m...sorry,” he said. “I’m bad at small talk.”

“Lots of people are, don’t worry about it. Is there anything you’re good at?”

“Killing,” Alex said, forcefully - like a threat. A beat of silence, and then - “wait, that’s a bad answer. I’m...good at cooking.”

He sounded uncertain, and Natasha could finally catch a glimpse of his thought process. The first response was a reflex. That was always at the forefront of his mind. The second, a safe bet - she’d commented on his cooking skill before. While it wasn’t particularly something he counted among his repertoire, he knew logically that people considered him good at cooking.

“You’re also pretty good at biology, right?” She pointed out. “I mean, Tony gave you a lab and everything.”

She was watching his body language. Lack of affect, in its own way, held its own cues. In this case, while he didn’t have any of the traditional microexpressions for her to read, his eyes did narrow. Though, this was beginning to register as anything from anger to confusion, and it seemed many things made him confused.

“Yeah,” he settled on saying. Another safe bet.

“What do you guys even do in there all day? I guess I never asked.”

“Bruce can explain it better than me.”

Natasha tilted her head. Was he dodging deliberately? Or was that just another safe answer?

“I’d like to hear your take on it. I mean, I like your sister a lot, but I hardly know anything about her brother.”

She had hoped she wouldn’t have to bait her questions using Dana so soon, but she wasn’t really getting anywhere otherwise. Alex seemed hesitant, but the mere fact that their sibling relationship had been acknowledged did seem to do the trick.

“...We’re making a deadlier penicillium fungus strain,” he said. “More efficient, more resilient. When released to the public, it might replace the current medical strain within ten years. _Penicillium chrysogenum_ will become obsolete - ours will take over.”

Natasha let her smile’s fakeness become apparent, because no one normal would hear his project described in that way and still be able to keep up a normal grin. It was baffling, because she _did_ know the basics of his and Bruce’s project, and it was, by all measures of the word, a _good thing_ ; Alex was just somehow allergic to making it sound even the slightest bit benign.

“...It’s, uh, possibly also a jumping-off point,” he said, when the silence dragged on. “The strain we’re manufacturing can handle more stress than penicillium normally can, so we might be able to switch out the metabolite for something else...I’ve been doing trials off the books. I think we might be able to get it to synthesize antibiotics that drug-resistant - “ he stopped himself, realizing that he was practically now rambling his plans aloud. “ - Sorry. Basically, we’re making a drug factory.”

Natasha nodded. “Does Bruce know about the off-the-record stuff?”

“Yeah. He’s been helping me out.”

So it was safe, then. “Well, that sounds really fascinating.”

And it was - fascinating to hear what he thought about his project. The focus had been on the fungus itself, what it was capable of. It would definitely help people, and was genuinely a great scientific accomplishment, in the fields of both microbiology and genetic engineering, but what had stood out to Alex was the improvement of the strain. Did he actually care about its impact, once released to the world? Or was this science for science’s sake?

“So Tony will be helping you sell it?”

“Sell?”

“I mean, you stand to make a lot of money with this sort of thing, right? Especially since you can patent GMOs, and that sounds like what you’re doing.”

“...I want it freely available. Open-source.”

So maybe he did care about helping people after all.

“Tony’s not gonna like that.”

“He can go fuck himself, then.” Succinct. “If he wants money, he can reroute the personnel working on a cure to working on a vaccine and hold _that_ for ransom.”

“Have you ever expressed that to him?”

“No.”

“Well, why not? It’s a pretty sick dig. I’m in support.”

“It wouldn’t change his mind,” Alex said. “And he probably already knows it’s an option. I’m just higher priority.”

He stepped back to examine his work, and, satisfied with the cleanliness of the kitchen, pulled open the refrigerator door.

“I didn’t plan to have someone over. I can make you some cod without messing up the week’s meal plan. Do you have a problem with cod?”

“None at all,” Natasha said cheerfully. She was faking the cheerfulness, sure, but she _was_ very impressed by his cooking and it _was_ something to look forward to.

“It’s weird how few of you have food allergies.” He started pulling ingredients out.

Natasha got up from the couch to lean on the kitchen island and watch him work. She’d caught glimpses of it before, but the mood now seemed comfortable enough that she was able to walk right up. His gaze, distrustful, lingered on her for a second before he dropped it, already at work cleanly filleting the whole fish.

“Where’d you learn to cook?” she asked. The approach he was using was decidedly Parisian in nature, and the sharp, quick movements as he gouged out the tomato stems and diced the vegetables spoke of years of experience.

“Around.”

“I used to have an acquaintance who studied in Paris,” (this was not technically a lie), “and your food reminds me of that.”

He froze mid-action, knife blade stopped a millimeter above the chopping board. “You can cut the crap.”

Natasha blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You’re like this talking to my sister, too. Always poking, prodding.” He glared at her. “No one that talks like you do talks to me for as long as you do. I’m ‘weird,’ or something, and you’re acting at ‘normal.’ What do you want from us?”

She held his gaze for a tense moment, and then dropped the act. Her pleasantly interested posture sank into a cold, balanced, dispassionate attention, and her gaze dropped to his hands, watching the weapon he was holding.

“I didn’t tell any lies.”

“I know,” Alex said. “You just _are_ one.”

“And you’re not?”

He returned to his earlier task, half an onion reduced into near-identical pieces, balanced onto the flat of the blade, and thrown, sizzling, onto a pan covered in oil.

A few other items thrown into the fire, and Natasha realized that he was simply not planning to answer the question.

“Hey,” she said, leaning forward. “If you had to get rid of us, how would you do it?”

Alex snorted, his face twisting into an ugly grin, the first time Natasha had ever seen him do anything approaching a smile.

“You’re seriously asking me that?”

“Wouldn’t it be the first thing on your mind if _you_ didn’t know?”

Alex glanced up at the ceiling, toward where one of JARVIS’s hidden lenses was nested into a seam in the molding.

“Stand there,” he said, pointing her to a spot half a foot to the left. She moved immediately, her body blocking the sightline from Tony’s cameras.

“I might just tell them myself, you know. Having me block the cameras won't do anything.”

“It might not be a bad thing for you to think you know what I’m going to do,” Alex countered. “So go ahead.”

A genuine grin at that. So he was saying he might deliberately feed her false information? While she doubted that was the case - Alex was a frightfully honest creature - it was interesting to note he was capable of understanding that level of psychological play. Most likely, then, he just didn’t want Tony to see because it’d frustrate the man, not because he actually cared who knew and who didn’t.

Alex sliced a lemon into four perfectly round cross-sections, pointing to each one with the tip of his knife in turn.

“Tony,” he said, “Steve, Bruce...and you.”

Natasha nodded.

He gestured to the one he’d labelled as Bruce. “Lowest priority,” he said. He moved his knife tip over to Steve. “Highest.”

“That so?”

He stabbed through the citrus with the blade, and moved it gingerly until it was resting on the cod. If Natasha thought about it from Alex’s angle, she supposed it made sense - Steve was a powerhouse, and quick to throw himself headlong into danger. It wouldn’t be hard to isolate him, and the virus knew full well that it would need to whittle them down one by one, or else it wouldn’t have put them on a priority gradient. Bruce’s rating also made sense - it was up in the air which one of them would win that fight, so better to simply steer clear. The Hulk was a powerhouse, but not a tactical linchpin, so while he was a great asset to their fighting force, dealing with him also wasn’t a great blow. In other words: not worth it.

But the thing was, if it were Natasha she’d prioritize someone else. She tapped on the cutting board next to the slice designated as Tony. “Why not this one?”

“Because,” Alex said, “it’s about the message it sends.”

“The message.”

As in, killing Captain America meant waging war on the whole of the country? As in, no one was safe, if the best man among them could meet such a flat and untimely fate?

“And _then_ ,” Alex said, spearing through Tony’s representative, “this one, while they’re still recovering. And then the rest.”

He said everything with a flat, affectionless certainty of their deaths at his hands, the last line most of all. “And then the rest,” as if deducing that without Tony and Steve around they’d all be easy pickings from there.

“This is pretty vague,” Natasha said. “No dramatic setpieces? No settling any grudges?”

“Dying is already bad enough,” Alex said with a snort. “I don’t feel like I need to make it any worse than it already is.”

The other two lemon slices, he moved by hand, wrapping up the filet in plastic and letting it sit for a while to absorb the taste as he returned to the sauce he was simmering.

“Conscientious of you,” Natasha murmured. “May I give you some constructive criticism?”

“Go for it.”

“You should bump me up to at least number two,” she said, dead serious.

Alex glanced up at her, curiously eyeing her up and down.

“...Sure.”

“Ha. So easily?”

“Don’t ask for something and then laugh when you get it,” Alex mumbled, peeved. “If you’re ballsy enough to want to be number two, you probably deserve it. I’ll keep it in mind.”

The “when the time comes” was implicit.

Natasha observed him in silence for a few minutes. He was content to let the quiet linger, the only sound between them being the thunk of the knife against the wooden chopping board, the hissing simmer in the saucepan.

Eventually, the cod was seared, and the whole thing was plated - yes, _plated_ \- on spring greens and salad, garnished with sauce and a flick of the wrist and pushed across the polished countertop, ceramic against stone.

“Food,” Alex announced, tersely.

“You’re not going to eat?”

He stared morosely down at the seared cod on her plate.

“...No.”

She almost felt compelled to apologize.

Almost.

“This is delicious. I know it’s a small comfort, but I really will miss your cooking.”

“Say that after your cure actually works,” Alex shot back, just as dryly. “You might end up spending the rest of your life eating this shit.”

“What a tragedy that would be.”

He started packing up, putting things away, as she ate. Half-used vegetables were wrapped and neatly arranged; the rest of the cleaned cod was stacked in the freezer. The two halves of the lemon, not used in marinating the fish, had their juices viciously squeezed into a cup with Alex’s bare hands and brute strength, then mixed with water and sugar.

“Dana likes this with a shot of rum,” he said, handing her the lemonade.

“Dana knows how to live,” Natasha said. “I try not to drink while alone at a guy’s place, though. Also, didn’t she only turn twenty-one recently? How does she know how she likes her hard lemonade?”

“I don’t ask how she gets her drinks,” Alex said. “And if you know what’s good for you, neither will you.”

Natasha raised her eyebrows. “Could it be you’re actually telling a joke?”

“I know how to tell jokes,” he said, miffed. “Bruce thinks I’m really funny.”

Natasha snorted. “I don’t believe for a second that you’re intentionally trying to make him laugh.”

Alex glared at her. “You know, I _can_ still slice you in half before you could even react.” A pause. “Uh, that’s not a threat. Imminently.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Natasha said. “No worries. We’re just having some playful banter. You’re pretty quiet when you _actually_ start wanting to kill. Which is why the silent treatment you’re giving Steve is worrisome, actually.”

“Dana says it’s probably a good thing I don’t talk to him. I come off too much like a ‘crazy sociopath’.”

“Do you always do what Dana tells you?”

“Yeah.”

Natasha gave another snort. Alex looked bewildered.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Natasha said. “Or, rather, I’m holding that information hostage. If you want to know what was so funny, you’ll have to tell me something about yourself.”

Alex made some kind of disgruntled “hrm” noise and continued cleaning up. The cutting board, the knife, he ran his hand over their surfaces and put them away. The pans got the same treatment - clearly, the same absorption process he’d displayed at the meet and greet dinner, being put to the mundane task of dishes. It was pretty gross, by normal standards, even though Natasha knew logically that it probably did a better job than anti-microbial detergent could.

Detergent that, now that she thought about it, was missing from their countertop.

“Why not just do that instead of dust?”

“No nutritional value in dust.”

“I now _fully_ understand why Bruce finds you so funny.”

Alex glared at her. “You coming here for my sister was a cover; why are you still here?”

Natasha snorted again. “Am I being chased out?”

“No, but you got what you wanted. You can leave if waiting another two hours is a waste of time.”

“Oh?” Natasha asked, quirking an eyebrow. “You’re saying meeting with your sister is a waste of time?”

“I didn’t say that.”

He seemed genuinely agitated, so she backed off. “I’m joking. I really do think she’s bright, and I don’t mind waiting for her to get back. This was my plan for the evening, anyway.” She leaned in. “But what about you? You’re not upset I keep ‘poking and prodding’ her?”

“Do you mean her any harm?”

“No.” Well, the truth was that it _was_ still leverage in the case of Dana going rogue or doing something crazy, like stealing Avengers intel and going on the run, but she seemed both stable and sane enough that it wasn’t a real concern. Just... _in case_.

“Then,” Alex continued, “you’re not creeped out by me pretending like I’m her real brother?”

She gave him a funny look. Her first instinct was, of course, to say that it wasn’t weird or creepy at all, because that was the flow of the conversation, but - thinking about it - it did actually bother her on some fundamental level. It still wasn’t _creepy;_ that wasn’t the word she’d use for it. But it _was_ uncomfortable. It felt like a farce, a scripted play. In Dana’s shoes, Natasha didn’t know if she’d _ever_ accept Alex - what Alex was now - as her brother.

Dana got exasperated with him, tried to put distance between them, and _yet_ \- there were moments where it felt very real, when Alex would say something weird when no one judgemental was listening and Dana would punch him in the arm while laughing, or once when Natasha had been pretending to nap and she’d caught them squabbling over optimal parts for the PC Dana was building.

“See,” Alex said, watching her reaction. “That’s how I feel about you and Dana.”

“Hmm,” Natasha said, smiling. “Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”

 

* * *

 

This...was basically Peter’s dream job.

Now, he would have said yes anyway if only because Tony Stark was the one personally asking him to take on the job, but then Tony had revealed he’d be directly subordinate to Bruce Banner - _the_ Bruce Banner. Which, uh, was a really exciting prospect, to say the least. And he’d basically be guaranteed acceptance into any university he wanted, if he had a letter from Bruce. Tuition and financial aid were separate factors entirely, but even then it was _amazing_ leverage. And it promised to knock out at _least_ one science credit from his school curriculum. Tony had hinted it might be more.

So Peter was dressed business casual, with his hair actually combed for once, as he approached the door of the lab.

“Alright, JARVIS. I’m ready.”

“Very good, sir.”

The door slid open and immediately the two men in the lab turned their attention to him. One of them was obviously Dr. Bruce Banner - a gentle-looking man with a mop of brown hair and a well-worn, floor-length labcoat - and the other, Peter had never seen before.

This other guy, he thought, was _trouble_. The moment Peter stepped in, cold, piercing blue eyes narrowed and an already stiff stance stiffened even more. He was an average height, but wearing what was definitely not laboratory-approved clothing - jeans, hoodie, leather jacket - which padded him out, made him seem bulkier, bigger than he was.

“Um, hi,” Peter said, introducing himself. “My name’s Peter Parker, and Mr. Stark assigned me to be the lab assistant for Dr. Bruce Banner - how should I call you? Dr. Banner? Dr. Bruce? Mr. Banner? Dr. Mr.?”

“Dr. Banner will be fine,” Bruce said, shaking his hand. He smiled, and Peter grinned back. “Tony’s told me about your circumstances.”

“He didn’t tell _me_ ,” the other man said, voice so gravelly it was almost like he was gargling pebbles.

“Well, it’s not his fault you and your sister refuse to see him,” Dr. Banner said, genially. “Anyway, part of Tony’s conditions for us using this lab was a lab assistant, although it took a little for the paperwork to go through. Be nice to him, alright?”

The man gave a noncommittal grunt and folded his arms, clearly displeased.

“Sorry about him, you’ll get used to it,” Dr. Banner said. “Peter, this is Alex Mercer. He’s the one actually in charge of this project.”

Peter gaped for a second.

“He - him?” He asked, unable to stop himself. The idea of Bruce Banner _not_ automatically being in charge of whatever laboratory he happened to wander into was jarring, to say the least. It was even weirder that he was subordinate to a guy whose white shirt wasn’t even tucked in.

“He’s better at microbiology than I am,” Dr. Banner said, cheerfully. “My expertise, as far as biology is concerned, is in biomed. Alex, meanwhile, is something of an expert. Isn’t that right?”

Another noncommittal grunt. Dr. Banner sighed.

“Sorry about that, he’s sulking. Here, Alex. Even if you’re upset at Tony, that’s no reason to take it out on Peter. Say hello."

He did not, in fact, say hello. What he did instead was walk up close to them - very close - and glare.

“Hold out your arm,” he said.

“Uh, okay,” Peter said, holding out his hand to shake, because this guy was weird but Peter still had his manners. Alex, instead of shaking his hand like a normal person would, grabbed him by the wrist and shoved his sleeve up past his elbow. Almost before Peter could react, the man was swinging his other arm down with the intent to stab him with a syringe that came out of nowhere. It was only his spidey sense going off that let him jerk out of the way in time, the needlepoint hitting empty air.

“Whoa! What the - what are you - “

“Hm. Kid’s got fast reflexes,” Alex muttered, grabbing his wrist again and pulling it forward. This time, his grip was tight, and even with Peter pulling on his arm with all his strength, Alex refused to budge.

“Hold still, or else I might miss the vein,” Alex grunted.

“Alex, Alex, stop,” Dr. Banner said, trying in vain to swat him away. “You can’t just - “

But it was too late. With one swift movement, the syringe was inserted into Peter’s still-struggling arm, and the contents injected into his bloodstream. The empty syringe was then shoved into Dr. Banner's hands for disposal, and - again out of nowhere - Alex procured a cotton swab to press against the puncture, finally letting go of Peter’s wrist in order to fish a bandage out of a nearby drawer.

Peter, pale with fright, not quite processing everything that was happening, allowed Alex to bandage up his wound, while Dr. Banner rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Alex, you _have_ to give people some warning first.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Alright. Bring another vaccine from the lab. You’re up next.”

 

* * *

 

So it turned out that the syringe had been a vaccine for the strain of staphylococcus that they’d be working with. Alright, fair. He wished Alex would have told him that first, instead of sticking him with it against his will. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure whether he should be angry that Alex shot him up without telling him what was in the shot, scared that this normal-looking man was capable of keeping a steady grip even while _Spider Man_ was struggling to break free, or impressed that, despite all that, he’d still managed to find the vein.

Well, his arm was still sore, so...angry. Angry sounded good.

But more than that, he was weirded out by this guy. He was...wrong. Off. Everything about him filled Peter with a quiet apprehension - or maybe that was just the light trauma he'd suffered from being forcibly inoculated on day one.

But, no, there was definitely something _weird_ about the guy, beyond what could be explained by just being an eccentric savant. Not the least of which being how evasive everyone was about his origins.

“Well, he _technically_ doesn't have a PhD, so Mr. Mercer is fine,” Dr. Banner had said.

“What do you mean ‘technically’?”

“I mean he's never gone to college.”

Without turning around, Mr. Mercer had chimed in. “I'll be starting in September.”

“What for?” Peter asked.

“Psychology,” he answered.

 _Weird_.

There was also the fact that he apparently didn't have any previous work to base Dr. Banner’s optimism and trust on. No results, experiments, not even papers.

“Well, there was that one - on immune-bypassing rhinovirus,” Dr. Banner had mused, but Alex had dismissed it.

“I didn't write that,” he’d said. But Peter had memorized the wording and a couple Google searches later had found a PhD dissertation on exactly that, written by one Alexander J. Mercer from Columbia University. A search on him pulled up photos of a younger man than the Mr. Mercer in the lab, but the strong jaw and piercing blue eyes made a case for it being the same guy.

And yet they claimed Mr. Mercer had never been to college, never received a PhD, never written any papers - if so, were they lying? And if they weren't, then who the hell was the guy lounging around a laboratory with hands shoved into the pockets of a leather jacket instead of a labcoat?

Still, he clearly knew his way around a lab, and day one was largely filled with cold, dispassionate lectures on the various safety procedures they’d be following. Peter tried to add multiple times that he’d worked in a lab before and thus didn’t need to be taught the proper way to use an eyewash station, but it went unheeded.

“These are the base cultures we will be dealing with,” Mr. Mercer said, finally pointing Peter towards a few petri dishes and vials on opposite sides of a counter. “Medical-grade _Penicillium chrysogenum_ here, and _Staphylococcus aureus_ here. You’ve been vaccinated because it’ll be annoying if you come down with an infection. It shouldn’t happen as long as you’re careful, but no one ever is.” He glared. “if you touch one, change gloves before touching the other. If the penicillium contaminates the staph, we’ll have to order a new sample, and I’m taking it out of your pay.”

“I’m not getting paid,” Peter said.

“Great,” Alex sighed. “An amateur.”

And before Peter could protest that the politically correct term was _intern_ , Alex had started up once more about proper handling, decontamination, and disposal procedures, about as morbidly as it could get.

“Some of our samples of staph will probably be penicillin-resistant by the end, which is bad news for anyone immuno-compromised. Old people, babies. You flush it down the toilet, it gets into the water system, could cause a whole outbreak. You got family?”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t wash your hands proper, you get them sick, they die. That’ll be your fault. So: gloves, goggles, hair nets, wash your hands, and bleach: lots of it.”

“Got it,” Peter said.

He'd probably have fired off a charming, witty turn of phrase or pleasantly humorous snark at how uptight and serious Mr. Mercer was, but the man had already proven himself a stabber and Peter didn't want a repeat - at least so soon. So he kept his mouth shut and head down, at least for the first twelve hours or so.

Seriously, what was this guy's _deal_?

The hoodie he (always, Peter had never seen him without) wore should have hampered his peripheral vision, yet he always seemed to know where Peter was in the room. Several times he had asked Peter to bring him something Peter was standing next to, despite facing down into a microscope with one eye squeezed shut. And then there was his - prowl. It was more like a prowl than a walk or a stride, Peter decided, as several times it had been the vague tingling of his spidey sense that had alerted him to Mr. Mercer's approach, rather than footsteps or the sound of rustling clothing. It was bad enough that his spidey sense was going off at _all_ around this guy, but the fact that, were it not for his preternatural sixth sense, Mr. Mercer could sneak up on him, silent as a shadow, added a whole new level of nerve-wracking. He'd spooked Dr. Banner like this several times, as Mr. Mercer, for whatever reason, seemed to gravitate towards people’s blind spots, but the doctor had only laughed it off.

So, yes, it was a _prowl._ Mr. Mercer _prowled_ the lab. He stalked it. His presence was always like something big and toothy was panting down Peter's neck. Maybe it was just lingering unease after being poked and dosed on the first day, but he was increasingly starting to think something much more sinister was afoot. He just didn't know if he was the only one who noticed or not.

Mr. Stark was busy, so Peter hadn't really had a chance to consult him. All he'd had to say was that as long as Dr. Banner was present, it was fine.

“But he stabbed me.”

“With what?”

“A syringe.”

“Mm,” Mr. Stark said, once more disinterested. “Well, guess you should feel lucky, then.”

And he had not had a comeback to that, because there wasn't really one. His mind was a big, flashing LED marquee of question marks. The more he pressed, the thicker the conspiracy became.

However, for all his dangerous, predatory aura, and the way Mr. Mercer looked at him like Peter imagined the big bad wolf looked at little red, Mr. Mercer was good at his job.

Like Bruce, Peter's field of expertise was not microbiology, but Mr. Mercer's explanations were simple and easy to follow. Here's the relevant chemicals, here's the methodology, here's the breakdown of the chemical reactions and what results they were expecting. All the delicate work - actually changing genes around - was being handled by the two adults, however, and Peter found himself at the end of week two feeling like a nanny to the bacterial cultures rather than an actual researcher or part of the team. It was a little frustrating, especially because the adults were playing with such cool-looking toys, and he understood the theory just as well as they did. Probably. And as much as he tried to keep his image up before his hero, Dr. Banner, and The Guy Who Stabbed Him Once, Mr. Mercer, he couldn't help the disappointed sighs he let out when he'd be assigned on cleaning, disposal, and culture watch duty again.

“Something wrong?” Mr. Mercer asked, eyes narrowing, the first time he ever seemed to notice.

“N-no, nothing,” Peter said. “I’ll be sterilizing the beakers, just like you asked - “

“Don't lie to me,” Mr. Mercer snapped, and the spidey sense zinged up for a moment, Peter snapping upright.

“I, um, I just - “ he thought hard to figure out a phrasing that wouldn't offend. “I. Just thought it would be a neat experience to, um, try out the golden-gate method myself once - but! I know I'm just an intern, so I don't actually expect you guys to  - “

“Oh,” Mr. Mercer said, relaxing a little. “Then, Bruce, sterilize the beakers. Peter, come here.”

“‘Please’ wouldn't kill you, Alex,” Dr. Banner said, taking the glassware.

“...Please,” Mr. Mercer said.

He then stepped aside to give Peter room to move close to the sample he'd been working on, and, boy, if Peter felt like something was breathing down his neck while Mr. Mercer was across the room...but he ignored it, at once apprehensive and the barest hint excited.

“Repeat the golden-gate cloning protocol,” Mr. Mercer ordered. “...Please,” he said, as an afterthought.

And Peter did, only barely stumbling over his words. Mr. Mercer's glare was unchanging as always, but as soon as Peter was finished, he pulled the materials closer.

“Knock yourself out,” he said, pulling out a new sample to work on, himself. Peter stared, incredulous.

“You're really going to let me…?”

“You know how,” Mr. Mercer pointed out like it was obvious, already leaning in toward a new microscope. It seemed like he wanted the discussion to end there, so Peter let it drop, but in his heart, his evaluation of Mr. Mercer had risen considerably.

...Though, not enough to counterbalance the fact that the sample Mr. Mercer had been working on…

“It's, uh, secreting something green,” Peter said.

“Oh. Yeah. Well, that's why that sample's useless now and needs to be killed by the end of the day,” Mr. Mercer said, casually. “It’s batrachotoxin.”

“You mean like the stuff poison dart frogs sweat?”

“Yeah. But if you’re doing like I said - goggles, gloves, hairnet, wash hands, bleach - it’ll be fine. Don't lick your fingers.”

“Why is the penicillium secreting batrachotoxin?” Peter asked, voice rising in pitch.

“Because I put a gene in it that lets it secrete batrachotoxin. It _is_ making it more effective at killing staph, but it'll kill anything else, too. It gets out of this lab and we'll have a big problem. So bleach the shit out of it when you're done.”

And Peter did, and washed his hands for damn near ten full minutes, and thought to himself that Mr. Mercer was _big_ trouble.

 

* * *

 

“JARVIS,” Tony said, staring into the depths of the refrigerator, “where are the little bite-size falafel boxes I got?”

“Pepper Pots took the last one at nine forty-six PM today, sir.”

Tony sighed, miserably, leaning against his arm. “Place an order for a new batch, same-day delivery, the regular place.”

“Very good, sir.”

Disappointing, that his latest midnight snack had been so cruelly withheld from him, but he supposed he'd live, barely. He chose a much less fulfilling snack pack of little vegetables and ranch dip before closing the door - and out of the corner of his eyes he saw a monster and his heart skipped a beat and carrot sticks nearly went rolling on the floor.

“Alex Mercer is here to see you,” JARVIS said, politely.

“Little bit late to the punch on that one, buddy,” Tony said, staring down the man silhouetted by city lights, with glowing, pale blue eyes staring him down from across the room. “How’d you get up here, bud? Didja get lost? Thought we agreed you weren't allowed to leave your floor without Bruce…”

Thundering footsteps and a half-dressed Bruce bursting in from the hallway answered that question. “Hi, Tony,” he gasped, between breaths. “Alex wanted to see you.”

“I’m following the rules,” Alex said, coldly.

“Right,” Tony said, quickly regaining composure. “Well, that's good, good. Any reason this couldn't wait until morning?”

“No,” Alex admitted. “About that lab assistant.”

Oh boy. Did he figure out Tony had stuck him with the kid as an act of corporate espionage? He wasn't planning on backing down from _having_ the kid there, and he'd already reported some...interesting things about ZEUS's procedures, but he could understand if the virus was feeling cramped.

“Something wrong with him?”

He mentally prepared the checklist of arguments. Kid was bright, had experience, could be trusted, yadda yadda.

“Why isn't he getting paid?”

“...Come again?”

“He does good work, why isn't he getting paid?” ZEUS asked a question out of left field and definitely not worth calling him up at 12:30 am for.

“Is, uh, is his not getting paid a problem for you?” Tony asked, thoroughly confused.

“Answer the question,” ZEUS said, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice. “...Please.”

“You answer mine first.”

ZEUS narrowed his eyes. “It's a problem. No pay, no accountability. I know it’s pocket change to you, set him up with a standard lab assistant’s wage.”

Tony's gaze flicked over to Bruce, who was clearly also confused, and back.

“Ho-o-okay,” Tony breathed. “If I say yes, will you _knock_ next time?”

“If I remember,” ZEUS said, stiffly.

“You're asking the impossible there, Tony,” Bruce sighed. “He cloned my keycard while I wasn't watching.”

“Why don't you just ask JARVIS to keep him out?”

“Well, I don't mind _that_ much,” Bruce said.

“Are you going to pay him or not?” ZEUS snapped, re-railing the conversation.

Tony sighed. “Sure, sure. Can we continue this tomorrow? When the sun’s up?”

ZEUS nodded, stiffly. “Average rate is 14.98 per hour. I’ve logged all his times. Bruce.”

“Actually, Alex, you go ahead,” Bruce said, finally having caught his breath. “I was gonna ask Tony about some stuff of my own.”

The virus looked between him and Tony with unease, before giving one last, curt nod and walking out. Tony watched him go, and then watched Bruce sit himself down at the holo-table, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses.

“So you’re ready to chat?” Tony asked, joining him, snacking.

“I still say we should let him know we’re looking into him like this,” Bruce said. “I don’t think he’d mind in the first place.”

“But if he does, spells trouble for us,” Tony pointed out. “You know it as well as I do. JARVIS, pull up the files. Alexander J. Mercer.”

“Very good, sir,” JARVIS said, and immediately the table lit up with images and photocopies, Alex Mercer’s human life spread out before them.

Bruce sighed and leaned forward, while Tony feigned disinterest.

“I still say if you want a real profile, you should hire an _actual_ psychologist,” Bruce said, but he was already working, selecting the relevant files. School records, psych evaluation, Blackwatch personnel record.

“So Alex Mercer had the world against him from the outset,” Bruce said, finally. “Dad was a free spirit and mom got busted for possession, sentenced nine years. He bounced around from foster home to foster home. Some were bearable, most were shitty. Thirteen in nine years - different schools, different neighborhoods, never _quite_ left the state, but he did leave Manhattan a couple times. Mom got out of prison in January, gave birth in September, and got Alex back in October. She got the cops called on her a few more times for drunkenness and yelling at her kids...but the place she was living wasn’t exactly known for having law enforcement that cared too much, so she probably did worse than that. _Somehow_ , he managed to qualify for college at the age of 18, and had a PhD in genetics by 24. Have you read his dissertation?”

“Not yet.”

“This guy was _smart_ , Tony.”

“Still took him six years to get his PhD,” Tony said. “How long did it take for us to get ours? And he's only got the _one_.”

“Yeah, well our pre-college education wasn't in the first percentile,” Bruce said. “His highschool had a dropout rate of 52%. Three kids in his graduating class died from suspected gang violence in just his senior year. Forget skipping grades; it’s a miracle he made it out with enough credits to qualify for college in the first place. Full-time school, part-time employment, kid sister, drunken mom, and this was _during_ his PhD program. The man grew up to be a psychopath, and I don't blame him.”

He switched from college records to Blackwatch files, Alex's face staring out at them from behind a pair of glasses set with a thin, metal rim.

“The problem is,” Bruce said, “how young he was.”

“Twenty-nine, right?” Tony asked.

“Right. Twenty-nine, and hired the moment he graduated. Now, you and I both know that no matter how smart we are, we still don't know what we’ve never learned. Alex went from a PhD in virology to a job in virology. In other words…”

“Where did he learn about fungi?” Tony finished. They had known that Alex had "inherited" knowledge from the Alex that constituted his first meal, but the breadth and width of his knowledge had been suspicious. The point of this inquiry, which Bruce had taken on out of his own sense of curiosity, was to see whether or not Alex's strange, comprehensive knowledge had an explanation.

Bruce continued. “He's also proficient in computer programming, medicine, physics, weaponry, and sports terminology. Now, Alex Mercer was your textbook nerd, so I don't think it's too likely that he knows the history of the NFL by heart.”

“But ZEUS does?”

"And more," Bruce said, grimly. "No matter what topic I threw at him, he'd engage me like an expert. Russian literature, the history of the Civil War, glassblowing...perfect instant recall. As long as you aren't asking him for his _opinion_ on something, it's almost like he's a walking, in-depth encyclopedia on whatever subject you can think of."

“What, you mean you aren't constantly on the lookout for weird trivia to impress your friends with?”

“Tony,” Bruce said, not in the mood for jokes, “I think Blackwatch's files have it all wrong. I think the virus _they've_ got written down in there is _half_ as scary as the real thing.”

Okay, that was a _little_ concerning. "How so?"

“It's not just eidetic memory. It's _familiarity_. It's _expertise_. This virus has been alive for only a few months. I don't care how good at learning it is; that's not enough time for it to know what it does as intimately as it does.”

And if Bruce was the one saying it, then it was very likely to be true. Tony nodded, maintaining a disaffected air; he wasn't the type to show panic or concern in front of anybody, least of all Bruce. "Your hypothesis, doc?"

“Not a hypothesis," Bruce said. "I found evidence for a theory while I was sifting through everything. This one, here."

He pulled up a short clip of ZEUS approaching a military base's door. At least, it was labelled as ZEUS; he was in disguise, looked just like some rank-and-file Marine. He took a glance around and then punched a code into the keypad. The door slid open, and ZEUS slipped inside.

“He...pressed some buttons,” Tony said, nodding as if he were impressed.

“Buttons whose pattern changed every six hours, and only three people ever knew the code at any one time. Prior footage pins ZEUS killing and eating one of those people only five minutes prior, before the guy could react. ZEUS had no contact with the other two, as they had not left the base all day.”

It took a few seconds for the weight of Bruce's implications to sink in.

“Oh, god,” Tony breathed. “You're telling me that everyone he's eaten -  he knows what they know?”

“That is the best-case scenario.” Bruce said, glumly. “Unfortunately, I don't think it's what we're dealing with. You already know that the Redlight virus, unaltered, works as a hivemind? With Runners as the queens. I think, whatever ZEUS does is - a reverse of that. I think he's a mind _hive_. It's not just _knowledge_ he strips from his victims, it's memories, personalities, experience, abilities...everything. The reports we got from Blackwatch - they cleaned this information out of it as much as they could, but they couldn't get rid of just how damn jumpy everyone got about ZEUS. There's a report in here...it just devolves into a guy writing that he can't trust anyone. Anyone could be ZEUS. And you've seen the way he acts; he'd out himself the moment he opened his mouth. Unless - as my theory goes - he's a mimic. A perfect mimic.”

“Jesus,” Tony breathed.

“And that's especially bad because the list of the people he's eaten includes...Elizabeth Greene, codename MOTHER, the last queen of the hivemind, and General Randall, head of Blackwatch, himself,” Bruce said, staring at the repeating footage. “Assuming my theory's sound...he probably knows more about Blackwatch than they're even letting us know.”

The room was silent for a long time as they both contemplated the full consequences of Bruce's theory. They already knew he was a master of disguise, able to shake even Tony off while Tony was in hot pursuit, but this added a whole new dimension to his ability to run and hide.

The problem with fighting ZEUS had never been firepower, since ZEUS was tanky, but so was the Hulk, and anything that could sustain several minutes of fighting with the Hulk could probably bring ZEUS down. The problem had always been - and this was what the military had struggled with, as well - that he ran away whenever things started looking bad for him. And if he could perfectly mimic anyone he'd ever eaten - down to their knowledge, experience, and personality tics - then, if he were to run away, conceivably, they'd never find him. At most, they'd find a string of missing persons in his wake...if that.

What was the kill count he had? Thousands. _Thousands_ of people. How many of those thousands had he consumed? How many of them were rattling around inside his mind, that he could pull out to use as a disguise at any moment? Was it possible that he was only sticking to the rule of having an escort as some kind of power play? A taunt? Because if he ever did decide Dana wasn't worth sticking around for - if he ever, in earnest, _tried_ to run, then it was entirely likely that they would never find him.

While Tony was thinking all that, desperately trying to maintain his air of apathy, Bruce gave an awkward cough.

“...You know, I still don't really think he's a threat,” he said, lamely. “I mean, all of us here are massively dangerous if we go rogue. He's just - efficient at it, but so far he's adhered to our rules, he lets us keep watch, you know…”

“Bruce,” Tony cut in, “be honest with me. What's humanity's prognosis if he _does_ break loose?”

Bruce rubbed the back of his neck.

“Billions dead,” he answered. “A few million was too small. Based on what he told me about how Blacklight operates, and assuming he'd take over as hive queen...billions. I wouldn't call it a stretch for humanity to just be...wiped out.”

“And how long, to reach ‘billions’?”

“Tony, I really think - “

“How long.”

Bruce sighed. “Geeze. A month, two months? Assuming he gets his start on the mainland. A month, and the US would be crippled. Two months, the world's infected beyond the point of no return. I mean, I guess that's the...that's assuming we don't know until it's too late.”

Which was not only a likely outcome, but there was also no guarantee that they could seriously hinder the virus. None of Tony's suits so far were capable of punching microbes. Although he was working on one.

“And a _nuke_ wasn't enough to kill him,” Tony mused. “Maybe we should try launching him into the sun.”

“Bad plan,” Bruce said. “Current research indicates viruses get stronger in space, for some reason. What would you do if he ever came _back_?”

“Then I don't know,” Tony said. “Do you have any bright ideas? Because what we're looking at here is only the #2 spot on the ‘threats to humanity’ index because aliens that can and would blow up our planet have invaded before. He almost took my head off because I riffed on his sister; you really think he can be reasoned with?”

“Believe it or not, Tony, but he thinks you do good work. Listen - even with Alex Mercer as his template psychology, Mercer only became what he did because he was forced to grow up tough. Ale - ZEUS cares about people. He cares about Dana, he cares about me. I've heard him _condemn_ the original Alex Mercer for releasing the virus. I'm not saying he isn't wildly dangerous, but so am I, and _he's_ got better control.”

“We have countermeasures for you,” Tony said. “We don't have countermeasures for _that_.”

“...Alright, yeah,” Bruce relented. “I just - I think you should try getting to know him. Join our lab sometime.”

“I can...try making room in my schedule,” Tony said, unconvincingly. “Have you tried locking him in a decontamination chamber overnight?”

“Wouldn't work. If it can't kill him instantly, he'll be immune by sunrise, he tells me.”

“Dang,” Tony said. “How're the labcoats in the Red Zone doing with a cure?”

“No progress. I'm telling you, Tony, I think there's one person on the planet who might be able to cure the Blacklight virus. And it _is_ the Blacklight virus.”

“And we gave him a lab,” Tony muttered.

“Seriously, get to know the guy,” Bruce said. “Unlike your team, _we're_ making a lot of progress. We can see the finish line on our project, even if it's a while off.”

“Sure, sure,” Tony said. “Sounds like a great idea, right up until he literally bites me in the ass.”

 

* * *

 

Unfortunately, Bruce's taunting worked, and so Tony found himself barging in on the lab one sunny Wednesday, in a shiny new labcoat and a pair of goggles perched jauntily on his head. His normal work didn't need a lab coat, but he still owned one from his college days, so he'd dusted it off for the occasion.

“Sup, eggheads, how goes the science?” he asked, announcing his entrance. Bruce seemed surprised, Peter seemed excited, and ZEUS…

Did humans have hackles? He could swear ZEUS had his hackles raised.

Confidently, Tony swaggered up to him. To ZEUS's credit, he didn't back down, gaze steady.

“How's it hanging, influenza?”

“Are you asking as my boss or as the guy who wants me dead?”

Beside them, Peter's brow creased.

“Bit of both,” Tony admitted, freely. “Bruce says you guys can see the finish line. Fill me in on what we've got?”

ZEUS's eyes narrowed, but he acquiesced.

“This is a project in stages. We’re finishing up stage one.”

“Oh, yeah? And what's stage one?”

“Building a robust enough culture to survive stage two, which is where we introduce the modified gene,” ZEUS said. “After that, troubleshooting. Initial tests with the modified gene look good. The fungi burns itself out too fast, but while it is alive it's hitting our benchmarks.”

Much as he hated to admit it, that _was_ more progress than his team was making.

“Well, here's a thought, and just consider it a businessman's perspective, but if it already works, why not focus on quantity and harvest like that?”

“...Because,” ZEUS said, hesitantly. “I want it to be more than that. This saves lives...look, pigs get treated better, and they're only livestock.”

“I dunno, bacon is sometimes the only thing keeping me going.”

“We’re doing it my way because I'm the head of this lab, and I say so.”

“Well, as the _owner_ of this lab, I’m gonna need more than that.”

“It - it just - has to be _better,_ ” ZEUS said, becoming frustrated. “It can't just self-destruct, that's - failure. That's a fail state. It - Peter, leave.”

Peter looked bewildered. “Wh - did I do something?”

“No. Just get out.”

Peter looked like he was about to say something, but his back suddenly shot up straight and he made a beeline for the door. Tony raised his eyebrows as he watched the kid go.

“What's the matter, germs?” Tony asked, himself feeling apprehensive, though he wasn't about to show it.

“Can't find the right words,” ZEUS muttered. “It - _has_ to be better. It can't just self-destruct; it has to be _right_. It has to be right. I'm not making any sense, am I?”

“Not at all,” Tony said.

ZEUS sighed and buried his head in his hands. He held there for a long time before finally uncurling, with a big breath of air.

“The Redlight virus has a goal,” ZEUS said, carefully. “The reason it spreads is to find genetically suitable hosts - Runners - whose bodies can be used as incubation tanks for something _new_. A different kind of life-form. A step up from humanity's current state. It's forcibly evolving humanity. And the Blacklight virus was derived from that.”

Tony blinked, since this was new information to him. Wasn't it something that shouldn't be admitted freely? Shouldn't ZEUS be more careful about leaking information on the virus?

"So...your point is?"

ZEUS bristled. "The penicillium that I'm growing needs to be..."

"Better?" Bruce suggested, in an attempt to calm him down. ZEUS glanced at him, then nodded, some of the tension leaving him.

"Yeah."

It was really unsettling, actually, that Bruce was somehow okay with this weird "I must fulfill my viral instincts and evolve microbes past their limits" deal, and more evidence that perhaps he was under some form of mind control. But, already suspecting as much, Tony had run their lab results past another expert in the field, and that lady had begged him to let her join the project, so the results they were getting where probably...real. He hoped. He leaned himself against a counter, keeping casual and calm.

"Sure, okay, a new stage in fungus evolution. Where'd you learn about this stuff again?"

Some of ZEUS's tension returned as he stared at Tony.

"Around," he said, simply.

"C'mon, strep throat. It sounds like you got one hell of an education. Is it really a bad thing that I want to know where from?"

" _Around_ ," Alex repeated. "I'm not going to say it a third time."

“Alex,” Bruce asked, in a gentle tone “is the reason you know all this because you absorb the minds of the people you eat?”

Tony turned and shot him a look of alarm - he was trying to get ZEUS to tell a bad lie to confirm their theory, but it seemed like an incredibly bad idea to state it out loud while they were trapped in a small room with him. But ZEUS didn't seem troubled at all, giving a nasty, sarcastic chuckle.

“So you figured that out, huh?”

“Mostly. It's still up in the air exactly how much you retain.”

“All of it,” ZEUS said. “They _are_ me. I _am_ them. I relive the moment I kill them - constantly. Do you want it in virus-y terms?” He eyed Tony, and flashed a mocking grin. “I infect. I consume. I assimilate. Do you want a demonstration?”

Tony was thoroughly freaked by this point, but unwilling to back down. He looked to Bruce for help, but there was none to be found. Instead, Bruce just gave a bemused sigh, and as if he wasn’t talking down the scariest monster currently on the planet, he asked -

“How long have you been wanting to tell us, Alex?”

ZEUS shot him a glare. “...Since I got here,” he admitted. “Dana says I'm bad at keeping secrets.”

“That girl is wise,” Bruce said. “See, Tony. I told you we could just ask."

Tony made a "psh" noise, to express how completely unaffected he was by Bruce's I-told-you-so.

Bruce ignored him and continued. "So how many have you eaten?”

“Three thousand, forty-six.”

“Yeesh,” Bruce said, lightly. “Is it hard to keep them all straight?”

ZEUS looked to the side. “Not really. I was...made for this. So it comes pretty naturally. When I get weak, though, I start cycling through them - usually the memories of me killing them is on their minds. It’s noisy.”

“I'll bet,” Bruce nodded. “So how many PhDs do you have, then? Tony was making a big deal out of that the other night.”

"No I wasn't."

Alex and Bruce ignored him.

“Do you mean by subject or...total?” Alex asked.

“Both, why not.”

“Twenty-two and two hundred eleven.”

“Wow.” He turned to Tony, gesturing toward ZEUS. “Tony, do you have any questions for him?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” Tony said, wincing. “You’re being pretty candid there, germs. Weren't you keeping it a secret?”

“Dana told me not to tell. It's ‘creepy,’ or something.”

“Or something, yeah. So you don't care that we know?”

“It's not like knowing makes it easier for you to kill me."

Bruce gave a small laugh at the completely deadpan delivery.

“Fair,” Tony said.

ZEUS turned back to his work, once more peering through a microscope at the new species he was cultivating. He seemed to be finished with the conversation, and unsociable enough that he could just drop it right in the middle without any warning. This annoyed Tony, so Tony decided to annoy him back, interrupting his work with a pestering question.

“This does mean your brain is freaky and alien, right?” he said. "Like, on the inside you're all 'kill all humans' and just barely keeping it in. Or maybe you don't even think in English? Does your brain work like an ant's does, mister Hive Queen?"

ZEUS's fingers froze, although he didn't look up.

“...Not really,” he said.

“Give me more than that, man.” Tony nudged Alex's leg with his foot, still not totally comfortable with clapping him on the shoulder with a bare hand. "C'mon. I'm not gonna shut up until you do."

The threat worked. Alex made a low grumbling noise, and answered.

“For a long time, I thought I was human. So I'm human enough to trick myself. Put it that way.”

“And you're saying you still just totally killed thousands of people?”

“Some _people_ give the order to kill thousands of people,” the virus answered. “Look, for the right reasons, I'd do it again. That probably makes me more like a monster than anything else does." He turned to glare at Tony. "Alex Mercer engineered Blacklight to be ten times more dangerous than Redlight. Alex did it because he didn't care what his research was being used for. Then he released it on Manhattan, and ten _million_ people died. But he's still more human than I'll ever be.”

“Great, Tony, you got him all broody and philosophical,” Bruce said, amused. “Alex, don't worry about him; he's just paranoid you'll kill us all. Hey, I know. Why don't you tell Tony why you’re unlikely to take over the hivemind?”

“It sucks.”

“Descriptive,” Tony said, raising an eyebrow. “You speaking from experience?”

“Fighting the hivemind meant tapping into it. And it _sucked_ ,” ZEUS grumbled. “Redlight can't be imprinted by outside thoughts and minds, so Redlight Runners aren't bothered, but it's like being trapped in a beehive, and the bees are all screaming.”

“Oh, so like shareholder meetings. I relate.”

ZEUS, predictably, did not find Tony's hilarious joke funny at all, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head. “Why are you really here?” he asked. “Looks like info-gathering was secondary.”

“I invited him so we could brag,” Bruce said. “The teams he's got going trying to find a way to kill you aren't making progress.”

ZEUS snorted. “Figures. If DX-1118 were so easy to fight off, they'd have made a cure decades ago.”

“What's getting in the way?” Tony asked, casually.

“It - “ ZEUS caught himself mid-sentence. “Ha, almost got me. Nice try.”

“Glad you're such a good sport about it,” Tony said. “No point trying to fish for more now that your guard's up. Tell me about your ‘right’ penicillium.”

ZEUS gave him one last distrustful glare before pushing the microscope toward him and pulling the portable whiteboard over. He was halfway through a droning explanation when he snapped upright in alarm, stalked out of the lab, and returned with a flailing Peter under one arm, who he dumped unceremoniously onto the ground. Heedless of Peter's distress, he sat back down on his seat to continue the lecture while Bruce tried very hard not to laugh at Peter's misfortune.

 

* * *

 

“He's got to be some kind of _alien_ ,” Peter ranted, on video call with Ned. “Something. _Something_. I _don't_ believe he's a normal guy.”

“Maybe he _is_ a normal guy, and you're just insane?” Ned offered.

“Maybe!” Peter yelled, as loud as he could without disturbing Aunt May. “Maybe I am going nuts, because I swear to god this guy doesn't bat an eye at _anything._ The other day, right, I'm carrying a test tube rack full of staph and I trip, because I guess I’m still a clumsy idiot, and they all go flying towards him. I catch four of them with my reflexes but the fifth is out too far, and Mr. Mercer doesn't even blink, he just - snatches it right out of the air, puts it back in the rack, and tells me to ‘be careful.’ So he _sees_ my crazy reflexes, obviously, and he _doesn't care_ , or _doesn't notice_ , or _something_. I swear I'm not going crazy.”

“Uh-huh,” Ned said.

“His eyes, okay? They glow in the dark. Like a raccoon. He gets there early, like, Dr. Banner is asleep at a desk, and sometimes the lights go off because they’re motion-activated, and I swear I am not making this up, but his eyes glow in the dark.”

“Freaky if true, but how do you prove he's not just got shiny eyes?”

“Humans don't have tapetum lucidum!” Peter snapped.

“Now you're just making up words,” Ned said.

“Listen, dude, my spidey sense goes off whenever I'm within ten feet of him. There's something _wrong_ about him, I'm telling you.”

“Maybe he's just dangerously socially awkward? I mean, I relate.”

“Ned!”

“I'm just kidding around, dude. Can I give you my actual theory?”

Peter sighed. “Sure. I'm willing to listen to anything at this point.”

“Alright, take a gander at this. He IS the original Alex Mercer, but after college he fell in with some supervillain group - like that HYDRA or whatever - and now he’s defected, and he's in, like, super witness protection or whatever, and that’s why he’s _technically_ never been to school or anything - he's got a new legal identity that never went to college.”

“But he still goes by Alex Mercer.”

“Did you ever see any ID?”

“...No,” Peter admitted.

“Then maybe he's only still going by his real name in the labs, and if you saw his driver's license it says, like, ‘Ricky Lastname,’ or something.”

“But, Ned, he sets off my spidey-senses just by _existing_. A normal dude can’t do that.”

“Well, you also said he was stupid strong, right? Like, maybe he's another attempt at a supersoldier serum, like Captain America. I mean, normal guys with knives set off your spidey sense all the time. He's probably just a paranoid, hardened criminal with a plan to kill everyone he meets and that's why he wigs you out so much.”

“‘Just’ a paranoid, hardened criminal, huh?”

“Yeah, I mean, the other theory on the table right now is ‘literally aliens.’”

Peter sighed again, rubbing his eyes.

“You've got a point,” he admitted. “But I'm telling you, dude...there's something really, really wrong here. With him. With his whole situation.”

“Listen, there's only one way to settle this and you and I both know it: an _investigation_. Are you up for it?”

“Been up for it,” Peter said. “He's gotta leave that building eventually, and spring break is coming up.”

“ _Stakeout_ ,” Ned grinned.

“ _Stakeout_ ,” Peter repeated.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> confession: so far, everything posted has already been written, and the time between updates is how long it takes for me to get off my ass and edit it...at the time of writing, i'm about 2/3 of the way through everything that has been written so far...kill me...........

“You're not mad we’ve been digging into you?” Bruce asked, quietly, turning around one of the biohazard petri dishes in his hand as he sat perched on a chair in Alex's room.

Alex silently considered the question. He always needed a bit of time to sort through any answer that probed at his own feelings and opinions.

“You didn't tell him about Ragland?” he asked.

“No, I didn't.”

“Why not?”

“Would you have been mad if I did?”

Another long pause as Alex mulled it over. “Yeah. I think so.”

“Why?” Bruce asked.

Yet another long silence. This was how every conversation about feelings played out with him - one needed patience, Dana had told him, if they wanted to communicate with Alex beyond facts and day-to-day planning.

“...I told you I didn't want him involved,” he settled on saying.

“So you would have felt…?”

A shorter silence, this time. “Betrayed.”

“Right,” Bruce said. “And to feel betrayed by me, that means you trust me, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“That's more important to me than whether or not we get to question Dr. Ragland as an organization,” Bruce said. “And, another factor in your favor, so's the fact that I quite like him. It might be selfish of me, but I don't want to jeopardize three friendships for the sake of my job.”

Alex narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Three?”

“You've noticed your sister gets mad at anything you get mad at?” Bruce asked with a wry grin. “She's very protective of you.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” Alex muttered. “I'm not mad you guys are digging. I knew from the start you wanted to kill me. As long as no one else gets involved, I don't really care what you try.”

“Yeah,” Bruce said, with a hollow smile. It was a little sad to see how quick Alex was to accept that he'd be targeted as long as he was alive. There wasn't any bitterness in the admission, just resignation. It hit a little close to home.

Bruce turned the sample around, bringing it up to the light from the window. Since Alex had been given access to a lab and a better supplies, he’d finally been able to purchase proper blood agar, and the plate was a deep scarlet with milky white patches where the anthracis was growing. Dangerous - deadly, even, kept tame in a small plastic circle.

But Alex wasn’t keeping it because it was deadly, or because he could use it for study. It was just a hobby to him, as innocent as crochet or collecting stamps. It was something he was just fond of.

That was really the thing with Alex, he supposed. Alex had a different frame of mind for approaching the world. On the one hand, he was naive - childlike. Memories were not the same as experiences, and Alex himself had very few of the latter. Accounting for experiences that the average human would never need to deal with, the amount of time the virus had actually spent interacting with society in any meaningful capacity was probably limited to only a few months.

On the other hand, his worldview was broad - maybe too broad. From a solid grounding in the hard sciences, to being one of the most physically capable beings on the planet, to being one of the greatest threats to humanity currently residing unchecked on earth, Alex's sense of scale and gravitas was completely thrown out of balance. Of course bringing anthrax into the building was nothing to him - for the ultimate virus, what was the difference between anthracis and staphylococcus? What was the difference between polio and the common cold? And what was the Hulk but a human, slightly stronger than all the rest?

“Hey,” Bruce said, quietly. “Can I tell you about myself, Alex?”

The answer was immediate and without inflection. “Sure.”

Bruce took a deep breath to steel himself, and set the sample back on the table with a little clack. He folded his hands between his knees, staring down at the floorboards as he arranged the words in his head.

It had been a while since he'd told anyone the full, annotated story. Generally, if he did need to tell it, he kept it short and impersonal. Even then, he hated the way peoples’ gazes would soften - with some misplaced, transient pity to be replaced by fear the moment he raised his voice. He didn't know, really, why he suddenly felt compelled to spill his guts to Alex. But he was sure, at least, that Alex would still look at him the same way when he was done. Maybe that was the only reason he ever needed.

“When I first became the Hulk,” Bruce said, “I lost...everything. My job. My future. They set me up, you know that? They told me my research would be used for defense.”

“It's never used for defense.”

“Yeah, I wish I'd realized that all those years ago,” Bruce said. “It was a supersoldier serum. That, and gamma radiation. Put the two together and you get a monster. I've got - a lot of blood on my hands. And, you know, it doesn't really matter to me now, but back in the day I was really dreaming of being able to help people. I mean, it's a hollow title, but I'm a 'genius,' they always said. I was always thinking - how could I put that to use? Could I solve world hunger? Cure cancer? My head was full of dreams like that, and then, one day, poof.” He made a little motion with his fingers.

“Gone. All of it. I wasn’t Bruce Banner, scientist, anymore. I was Bruce Banner, fugitive from the law...or on bad days, Hulk, weapon of mass destruction. I started wishing I'd been born stupid, or hadn't been born at all. I tried to kill myself. Gun in the mouth. Hulk spit out the bullet. So you can't say I didn't try. I gave it my all.”

Alex had looked up from his microscope now, and while he didn't prompt Bruce to continue, he remained silent until Bruce did.

“I ran to Brazil. Looked for a cure. Got hunted down like an animal. For a while I thought I was doing alright for myself, but then it turned out the guy helping me find one - he was also just looking for a way to turn my blood into a superserum. Full of dreams, that guy. Like me when I was younger, so...it's not like I can blame him, but..." He shook his head. "That was probably it. When I realized that the ‘friend’ helping me keep it together didn't _understand_. I - I can't have sex with the girl I like, because I’m worried I'll black out, and when I wake up, I'll have ripped her in half. But no one seems to get it. No one gets how it's just not worth fucking with. And in their eyes I'm not Bruce Banner, I'm - still just a military asset. A brain they can squeeze like a lemon. It's been better lately, being around guys like Tony and Steve, but they still treat me like glass sometimes. Because everyone still sees a monster when they look at me, and not a man. Not Bruce.”

He let out a deep breath, felt himself calm. He was good at it, now, keeping calm, stable, grounded. Alex, again, remained silent, in case Bruce wanted to continue, but Bruce just opened his palms, finished.

“That's it,” he said.

“...Why are you telling me all this?” Alex asked, his voice tinged with confusion. Bruce rubbed the back of his neck.

“I don't know, I guess I - just wanted to fill you in on the backstory, since everyone else here already knows it. I guess to say that I think we're kind of similar. You're probably the only person here who doesn’t need to worry about me. I mean, no offense, but I think the Hulk could crush you into meat paste. But I also don't think that'd actually be much of a problem for you, and vice-versa. At this point, I'm banking on my telomeres to run out and to die of old age, because I'm unconvinced anything else will work.”

Alex nodded, accepting this answer, and tilted his head.

“Do you like humanity? Want to protect it?”

“I guess so,” Bruce answered, “but...in a vague, from-afar way. I mean, someone getting beat up right in front of me, I can’t exactly ignore - still got empathy and all that - but..." He sighed. "You know, really? I kind of just want to be left alone.”

“Alright,” Alex said. He always sounded gruff, cold, and thorny. Consequently, once Bruce had gotten used to it, he never sounded judgemental. “Do you ever think it would be easier not to have empathy? To do whatever you want?”

“It's always easier to do that, Alex,” Bruce said, with a wry grin. “Even if I wasn't the Hulk, that would be easier. Actually, if I'd never had morals or ethics in the first place, I’d probably be lounging around in Dubai on my piles and piles of ill-gotten money right now. It's always easier. But even as I am currently, I still wouldn't give them up.”

Alex nodded again, the answer somehow satisfying whatever alien algorithm he was running in his head.

“I think you're a good man,” he said, finally. “You're my friend.”

And Bruce couldn't help giving a sharp, amused laugh at that, which made Alex knit his brows and go on the defensive. “What?”

“That was - just like a child trying to cheer someone up, I'm sorry. I know you hate how we joke that you're a kid, but - “

“What am I supposed to say?”

“No, no, I don't mean it like that,” Bruce said, still laughing. “I think we have much to learn from children. ‘You're my friend’...Yeah, I am, aren’t I? Are we going to be friends forever, Alex?”

“Sure,” Alex said, bewildered. “If you last that long.”

“Heh, yeah, yeah. I'll take you up on that offer. Hey, hold out your arm.”

Alex did, without hesitation, and Bruce smiled at how willing he was to put himself in harm's way at Bruce's request. Still, since Bruce wasn't Alex, he didn't have a vaccine in his pocket - instead, he took Alex's feverishly warm hand by the pinkie and looped his own around it.

“Do you know what they call this?” Bruce asked.

“Yeah,” Alex said, huffing. “It's a pinkie promise. I'm _not_ a little kid.”

“Yeah, but humor me. See, even kids know words are cheap. Before they even know what a contract is, they invent rituals to make binding vows. So it's a pinkie promise, but it's as good as writing an oath in blood; do you promise we're gonna be friends forever?”

Alex stared at their hands, and then at Bruce, and back to their hands.

“Is it really that big a deal?”

“It’s a big deal to me.”

“...Alright,” Alex said. “I pinkie promise. Friends forever.”

It was downright comical hearing those words in Alex's voice, so Bruce couldn't help egging him on.

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Alex, faithful Alex, obliged him.

“Stick a needle in my eye.”

And Bruce grinned, about as wide and genuinely as he had for a long, long time, giving Alex's finger a tight squeeze until Alex look the cue and reciprocated.

When he let go, it was awkwardly, his big, hulking body unsure what to do with itself. Bruce smiled and broke the ice.

“So, hey,” Bruce said, “I gave you my life story, what about you? Got anything you wanna tell me that Tony doesn’t need to know about?”

Alex hesitated a moment, and then nodded.

“A lot,” he admitted. “Some of it, I haven't even told Dana. She's not like me; if they think she knows too much, they'll go after her, and she can't survive bullets.”

“'They'?”

“Blackwatch,” Alex said. “They've still got secrets they aren't giving up. If Tony knows, he'll want more. It'll be...trouble. I don't want trouble.”

“My lips are sealed,” Bruce said. “And nothing you tell me can make my position any worse.”

“Alright,” Alex said, closing his eyes. He took in a deep breath and started putting his samples and microscope away.

“I'm not a Runner,” Alex said. “I know that's what's in the files, but it's wrong.” He paused. “Half-wrong. I guess a Runner is still the closest match, but that's not what I am.”

He sighed through his nose, clearly displeased with whatever truth he was about to give.

“I'm an incomplete prototype,” he said, glaring down at the tabletop. “Alex Mercer's swan song. Everything about me is - is a byproduct. An accident.”

“Well, that's not too bad,” Bruce said. “A lot of people are brought about by accident.”

“It's different,” Alex insisted. “Look, in the finished product, I don't exist. I'm just supposed to keep the base consciousness through the cellular restructuring of the body, then self-destruct. I wasn’t ever supposed to grow a mind of my own.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Is this all stuff Blackwatch isn't telling us?”

“No. They don't know. If they did, they'd probably have recruited Alex rather than try to kill him - he figured out with the virus what they'd been trying to do for decades.” Alex's face had pulled into a grimace, the same he always got when talking about Blackwatch and its ilk. “I need to start from the beginning. Viruses and evolution are linked. Always have been. Disease is a bottleneck. Redlight is something more. Redlight has a _goal_. It's trying to shift all life on earth towards - something. Something big. But to do it, it needs wombs. Runners. Their bodies become incubators for this new life-form, and the mothers lose their minds. But what if you could cut out the middleman? Just have the virus rebuild you, cell-by-cell, and transfer your consciousness from one brain map to another.”

He looked down at his hands, expression pensive.

“Alex Mercer wasn't told a single thing,” Alex said. “He didn't know what was going on, who MOTHER was, what Blackwatch had figured out about Redlight's end game, the role Runners played. All he knew was his results were disappearing into thin air - his reports were going nowhere - and Blackwatch was hushing up the operation by dragging scientists into back-alleys and silencing them. Well, he didn't know the last one yet - but he figured it out. Until then, he started modifying the virus in secret.”

Alex paused.

“...Sorry. This isn't really about me at this point. Alex Mercer is the one who actually has a backstory. Mine is short. It's stupid. I woke up without memories, just a name. Everything I did was so I could learn the truth, learn who did this to me, who turned me into a monster...and the answer was, nothing was done to me at all. I always was a monster. Alex Mercer, the man, was dead before he hit the ground.”

“It's fine,” Bruce said. “You sound like you want to get it off your chest.”

“...Yeah,” Alex said. “Yeah, well. Alex had a side project while he was working at GENTEK, one that his bosses didn't know about. And that was me, all along. He had this - already had this strain of the virus he'd finished to meet Blackwatch's quota. MOTHER is DX-1118 B. DX-1118 C is worse. Much worse. And that's what ZEUS is made of.”

This matched up with reports from Blackwatch scientists claiming the virus was spreading far too quickly, far too widely. They were panicked, projecting that the infection would explode beyond exponentially if it ever left the island.

“Redlight’s ability to interact with its host's DNA - to change it, rewrite it, to mimic and copy genetic information - was the key. If you could harness the virus, then you could cause or cure any disease, any ailment known to man. But Alex saw in it something _more_. He realized that the virus could - _wanted_ to - build everything over from the ground up. A full release of the non-encoding parts of the genome. It's just like you said, Bruce, it wasn't worth fucking with. But he did.”

Alex turned away, his gaze settling on his petri dishes, on the moldy cantaloupe on the windowsill.

“There's three problems he had along the way. First, the virus could only properly rewrite the body in a perfect host. He didn't have one on-hand, but he found a workaround when he keyed the virus to his own DNA. Since he always had access to his own body, he always had a test subject.

“Second, the virus doesn't restructure its host into this - full-release being. It targets uteruses and builds those beings inside that. So he had to force the virus to differentiate and repurpose the host cells, instead of building a new body from scratch each time. He never finished working through this problem. While the virus he was working on could edit the body - shapeshift - on a level far beyond Redlight, it never managed to reach the point of a perfect genome release.

“Third, the virus takes over the host's mind. This turned everything else into a moot point. So Alex made his new strain imprintable. It took on the structure of the host's mind - memorized it, stored it. Then, in the rebuilt body, the idea was that the virus would transcribe it into the new brain. The host would remain; the virus would die. He never finished smoothing this out, either. The virus still takes over, but the minds - the minds that I consume...those remain.”

“So all of your abilities - the ones that Blackwatch couldn't explain…?”

“Byproducts,” Alex said, looking forlorn. “Failures. I can shapeshift because I was made to modify cells, not build new ones. I can absorb the minds of others because I was supposed to preserve the host. If you took a sample of the main cells in my body - genetically, they're Alex's. It really is like I'm piloting his corpse.”

Alex gave a sarcastic laugh. He only ever laughed or smiled for reasons like this, as if his own existence was the only joke he found funny.

“So, which one of us has it worse? The accidental weapon, or the hobby made on purpose?”

“You know, I’d say we both have it bad,” Bruce said. “But I have to say, I'm jealous of the guy who can control his problem.”

Alex snorted again. “Control, yeah, right. As long as I'm well-fed. I only have higher cognitive function when I've got a brain. Pound me into paste, and I'll try and eat whatever's warm and breathing nearby.”

“Still better than having no control all the time,” Bruce pointed out. “Look, I got a pretty raw deal, I feel like. Kids these days...they don’t know how good they've got it.”

“I'm not a kid,” Alex said, unconvincingly.

“It's alright, Alex. You're my friend even if you are less than a year old.”

“...I'm not a kid,” Alex repeated, miserably. And Bruce laughed - in a real, genuine way.

“Alex,” he said, when he was done, “you're horribly rude and awkward, and your first impressions could use some work, and you're very scary, but I also think you're a good man. At least, you've been a good man to me.”

Alex didn't smile - he basically never did - but his features did soften in a way that vaguely resembled a smile, almost, and also mild confusion.

“Thanks,” he said.

 

* * *

 

Dana came home to something _delicious_ on the stove, and her little brother hunched over it with a glare in his eyes, like he was pan-searing it with his gaze alone.

“Heya, Alex. What's cooking?”

“The other half of last night's steak,” he answered. “How was the school? Did they transfer your credits?”

“Yup,” Dana said, cheerfully. “Starting next fall, I'll be a junior! The commute's kind of a bitch, but I guess NYU needs to take a bit of a break before classes can begin again.”

“Something like half the faculty was wiped out, right?”

“Yeah. I mean, they're still counting the dead. I don't know how many of my old profs survived. And I guess I'm kind of scared to check.”

According to Alex, something like 80% of the island had been infected at some point - including herself. She was one of the rare, lucky few that survived, but she knew for a fact she was an exception. Ever since martial law had lifted, the US government had implemented a hub to keep track of survivors and give updates on the quarantine status, but she could only ever scroll through the names a little at a time. Most of the people she had known before the crisis were thankfully out of Manhattan when the top blew, and they hadn't been keen on returning any time soon, but of the people she'd known that had stayed, four professors, eight classmates, and almost all her high school graduating class were dead.

Though, as much as it filled her with a lingering anxiety to see familiar names on the obituary, the truth was, Dana had never really had close friends. Her older brother, for all his faults, had always pushed her to excel at school, at the cost of everything else.

“The only way either of us is ever getting out of this hellhole is college,” he'd told her. “No boys, no drugs. You put your nose to the fucking grindstone and get those fucking A's; you spin whatever sob story you need to get financial aid because mom sure as shit isn't paying, and you do whatever it takes to get your degree.”

He'd been a vicious control freak - she vividly remembered him screaming at her one night when he'd discovered a cigarette pack her friends had asked her to hold onto, about lung cancer and how much money their mother wasted on exactly that habit. And how he'd forbade her from Homecoming even though she'd been asked out, telling her all the sordid details of a girl in his class who'd gotten pregnant. How the dad had ditched her, and she'd been forced to drop out - to become someone "just like mom."

She'd been angry, then, sobbing. She'd cussed him out and was all resolved to go with or without his permission, until he'd grabbed her by the wrist and pleaded, _desperately_ , for her not to go.

“Look at me. Look. Listen. I _am_ that baby. Alright?" His eyes were wild, his grip severe. "I'm the baby that fucked over his parents' lives. So I know. I know better than anyone. How many girls in my class do you think made it to college along with me, huh? ‘Cause I'll tell you now: not the ones with _boys_. You choose. You get to choose. Do you want to have a nice, romantic night where your date bounces and leaves you with the bill, or do you want to get out of this place? Because I'm not staying forever, Dana. You got maybe one, two more years with me and I'm _gone_. I'm trying to cram as much into you as I fucking can, so that you're not stuck here, since you're the only good thing about this place."

It was so rare to hear him admitting so frankly how important she was to him that she'd forgotten her anger.

"You have a midterm to study for," he said. "And volunteer work you can put on a college app or a résumé. Pick one of those instead. _Please_ , Dana. I'm begging you."

He wasn't perfect, or even nice. But in his ruthless, coldhearted, Alex-y way, he was the only person who ever actually cared that she be better than her circumstances. If he hadn't been so anal, she probably wouldn't have worked nearly as hard for her scholarship.

Her older brother had always resembled a dog who'd turned vicious and nasty after having been hurt too many times. In her younger brother, she saw shades of the same, though this Alex was more subdued. Back then, she hadn't ever been able to do anything for her brother, since she was his kid sister, constantly tripping over herself. But this time around, she was the one in college, the one with life experience, guiding a kid sibling with more strength than sense.

Alex - Blacklight virus Alex - had taken some getting used to. Still did, sometimes. The hardened glare, the stooping posture, the quiet footsteps - for a long time after he'd revealed the truth to her, being near him was an exercise in paranoia. Some _thing,_ some  _creature_ , was wearing her brother's face, voice, mannerisms - and oftentimes not very _well_. What crawled around in Alex's body now was lethal - cold-blooded, at times too brusque and forceful to be human in any way.

But…

“Food,” Alex said, curtly, setting a plate down in front of her. It smelled like heaven, soft and tender and rare just the way she liked it, sided with a spring green salad and mashed rosy potatoes, peel-in.

It was the food that had won her over. More specifically, it was the food that made her realize that the creepy virus monster had been the little brother she'd always wanted.

The first time he ever cooked for her was the day he realized she'd been subsisting on cheap noodles and coffee, even since before the outbreak. Not that she didn't know how to cook real food - her older brother had been allergic to household chores, so cooking had been her job the moment she could lift a knife - but just that she was...well, poor. Her scholarship was full-ride, but it didn't include room and board, and there was only so much time and money left over from her job writing tabloids. So she made do with cheap, easy foods and late nights studying by lamplight.

Alex had stared, in that blank, vaguely menacing way he did, and the next thing she knew, he was cooking her a five-course meal with groceries he'd gotten from the only still-functioning Walmart ten miles north.

“I can cook from now on,” he said.

“...Well, gee, this much each time? I don't know if I can even finish half of this, and we don't have a refrigerator, dude.”

“...Sorry. I panicked.”

And it had tasted like home, like the time she'd gotten sick and her big brother had called in to work, had made her a batch of cheap, shitty chicken noodle and sat by her bedside, feeding it to her.

That was probably it, then, when she decided she could forgive Alex for everything. She could forgive Alex for everything because he was still, despite all that happened, her brother.

If he told her his cooking skill came from eating innocent civilians, then she'd just have tell him not to eat any more. If he told her he could probably wipe out humanity, she'd just have to tell him not to. And if the world was his enemy, well, it'd be her enemy, too.

It had always been her and Alex against the world.

She brought a forkful of steak up to her mouth. “You cook all this great food and never eat any of it yourself. It's such a waste!”

“Sorry,” he said. “I don't like cooking for myself.”

“I know, I'm just teasing. It's taking the pizza guy kind of a while, huh?”

Human food was not to his tastes, but the skilled chefs inside him refused to let him cook something that was, since doing so basically violated every rule for good cooking. Inherit an artist's skill and you inherit their fussiness, Dana supposed; at the same time, she didn't really mind not sharing pots with the kinds of food Alex liked to eat.

There was a knock at the door, and the deliveryman had hardly stopped rapping when Alex was already there with the tip in hand. Rudely, and without thanks, he shut the door, and returned to the table.

Anchovies, extra cheese, jalapeños, alfredo sauce, pineapple, and - Dana could never tear her eyes away, in horrified fascination - powdered sugar caked over the top, Alex’s fingers stained white like snow as he put the bag back into the cupboard.

“Alex,” Dana told him, as he sat down to eat, “never, _ever_ tell the Avengers how you like your pizza.”

“They already know,” he said, a slice already disappeared down his gullet. It had been Dana's idea for them to sit down to proper mealtimes using their taste buds, but sometimes she wished it hadn't been. “They keep an eye on all of my transactions.”

“Does that actually taste good or are you just fucking with me?”

“You always ask that.”

“It's always on my mind.”

“...I like the way powdered sugar melts,” he explained. “I like the umami in the anchovies and the fat content in the alfredo, and the jalepeño’s sting, and the pineapples' acidity.”

“I'm pretty sure that pizza is considered a torture device in most civilized countries.”

“It's not,” he said.

“Is too.”

“Is not.”

She snorted. “Whatever, agree to disagree. How was your day?”

“Progress is slow, but we're getting there,” he said, easily distracted. “Bruce is smart and good to have around the lab. The lab assistant keeps giving me funny looks, though.”

“Peter, right? The high schooler?”

“Yeah.”

She liked using these instances as chances to try and get Alex to introspect. That was half the battle with him - he never realized, without prompting, that he was doing something weird.

“Well, why do you think that is?”

Alex's chewing slowed as he considered the question.

“Oh,” he said, “it's probably because I'm not wearing a labcoat.”

“Aren't you? I thought that was, like, mandatory for labs. Part of the aesthetic.”

“It's to protect against spills,” Alex explained. “And easier to decontaminate. It's not an issue for me, but I guess I'm also not wearing eye protection or washing my hands. Even though I told him to.”

Dana sighed. “Alex...you don't need me to explain why that's no good, right?”

“Yeah...but I don't like water,” he said. “And the soap is heavy duty antimicrobial. It stings.”

“I think a little stinging for you is worth the goodwill of your lab assistant, don't you?”

“I guess so.” He scowled. “I don't like water.”

“Wait ‘til the Avengers find out that your greatest weakness is bathing,” Dana said with a big grin. “Just like always, you'll get immune to it eventually, so put up with it, okay? Try not to spook the kid, god knows he's probably just worried for you.”

“Worried for me…” Alex repeated. The thought had probably never crossed his mind. “Alright.”

He was still getting used to it, she supposed, the idea that people felt kindly towards him, or that he ought to return that kindness outward. Though, if she thought about it, her older brother had always been like that, too. But unlike him, baby virus Alex seemed willing to learn, to make an effort.

Dana thought that, as much as she could, she'd like to raise him well.

 

* * *

 

The next time Tony saw ZEUS, it was after ZEUS had thoroughly startled him by materializing out of nowhere behind him. Tony had reacted on instinct by throwing a punch, and it had felt like punching a soft brick wall.

“Ow,” ZEUS said, dully, clearly not actually meaning it.

“Christ on a cracker,” Tony said, as JARVIS once again announced too late that Alex had come to see him. “Knock, dammit. That's what doors are _for_.”

“Sorry,” ZEUS offered, also sounding like he didn’t actually mean it.

“Where's Bruce?” Tony asked, when the other man didn't come running in. He leaned to the side to peer over ZEUS's hulking frame, to see if the actual Hulk would come running.

“That’s what I needed to talk to you about,” ZEUS said, stiffly. “I told him he should let me decontaminate him, but he didn't listen, and now he's bedridden with enteric adenovirus.”

At Tony's confused look, ZEUS clarified. “Stomach bug. I am a qualified doctor.”

“Right,” Tony said. “I mean, that sucks for him, but what are you doing in my kitchen?”

“...Today, Dana and I were going to go to the zoo,” he said, looking down. “I don't want to cancel just because my handler’s sick.”

“Just get one of the other Avengers to take you, then,” Tony said.

“We already tried. Steve is on-duty and Natasha and Clint are out-of-state.”

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Hold on. Are you _inviting_ me?”

“I guess so,” ZEUS said, unhappily.

“...I'm a busy guy. JARVIS, tell him how busy I am.”

“Sir, you have no appointments today. I believe you said it was to be a ‘me’ day.”

“Traitor,” Tony muttered. “Listen, buddy, you don’t want to go the zoo with me - “

“I know.”

“Okay, wow, hurtful. I was going to say ‘you don't want to go with me because I draw screaming fans wherever I go.’”

“You can have them,” ZEUS said. “You just need to be _there_.” He folded his arms, stood a little straighter, and Tony straightened up too. “Listen, I’m going whether you come with us or not. You can either be there in civvies or be there in the suit; we are _going_ to the zoo.”

Tony was trying to work up an adequately scathing reply when ZEUS did something unexpected.

He lowered his head and _asked nicely._

“...Please. Dana's been looking forward to this for weeks. We've never been able to afford the zoo before.”

Tony’s eyebrows raised about as high as they could go.

“...Alright, okay,” he said, interest piqued. “The zoo.”

 

* * *

 

The moment Dana saw him, she’d groaned.

“Alex, don't tell me _that_ is what you meant by ‘I have a last resort,’” she said.

“I'm hurt,” Tony said, but the siblings were ignoring him.

“I need an escort,” ZEUS said. “Those are the rules.”

“Fine,” Dana sighed. “You're not planning to go dressed like that, are you?”

ZEUS looked down at himself, at the (tacky) leather jacket/hoodie/dress shirt combo he always wore, and back up at his sister.

“What's wrong with it?”

“It's tryhard-y,” Tony said.

“It's way too warm for spring,” Dana said, at the same time. She glared at Tony as she continued. “People are gonna give you funny looks, dude. Change into something less fall/winter.”

ZEUS furrowed his brow, as if unsure how to process her request.

“Look,” Tony said, “just - wear an I <3 NY shirt or something. Anything's a step up from what you've got.”

That earned another glare from Dana, but ZEUS nodded. “Alright.”

Then his upper body _melted._ The jacket collapsed into a writhing mass of red and black tendrils, reforming itself as a white cotton shirt with a familiar logo on it, settling around his body like it hadn't just materialized from his skin.

“Jesus,” Tony said.

“Great,” Dana said, throwing her hands in the air. “Now he looks like a tourist. Whatever, it'll work.”

“You knew he could do that?” Tony asked, pointing urgently.

“Yeah, yeah, it's, uh. Shit, I dunno how to explain it. Alex?”

“My clothes are mimicries made of biomass, and I can change them at will,” ZEUS said, without any change in expression. Like that wasn't super weird.

Dana didn't seem to find it weird in the slightest, either. “Yeah, that.”

“Oh my god. I thought you just had like twenty copies of the same outfit and really bad taste. You're telling me that you're actually just naked, all the time?”

“He's not _naked_ ,” Dana said.

“Yes,” ZEUS said.

“Alex.”

“I am ambiguously naked,” ZEUS corrected. “The legal code hasn't updated to cover my case specifically. It could go either way in court.”

Dana just sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

“Okay, okay," she said, trying to force some positivity. "Can we go to the zoo, already? I want to see if the tigers are afraid of my brother on instinct, or if that's only, like, cats and dogs. You know, I've never seen a tiger in real life. I hear they're _big_.”

“Tigers can get to eleven feet long, weigh 660 pounds, have canines up to four inches, and are ambush predators that kill their prey by snapping their neck in one bite,” ZEUS offered.

“Thanks, Alex,” Dana said.

 

* * *

 

It had been several days, but Peter had finally caught Mr. Mercer leaving the building. He actually almost missed him, since, instead of leaving through the front, Mr. Mercer had actually left in the backseat of a sleek black car - but the tingle of his spidey sense from his boss's presence had warned him in time to catch the barest hint of Mr. Mercer's scowl through the tinted glass.

Ned, who had been providing him company because stakeouts, it turned out, were really really boring, had to part ways with him there, as only one of them had the capacity to follow a moving car. Keeping out of sight by weaving through alleyways and over buildings, Peter tracked the vehicle as it turned north, went over the Willis Avenue Bridge, and...pulled into the parking lot of the Bronx Zoo.

This, to him, was a very baffling choice of location.

The driver stopped at the entrance to let Mr. Mercer off to go stand in line, along with a young woman only maybe twenty years old. She seemed familiar with him, unflinchingly leaning into his space. More alarming than the fact that Mr. Mercer was at the zoo with a woman, however, was that Mr. Mercer was wearing _different clothes._

In all the time Peter had ever known him, Mr. Mercer had literally never once changed out of his white dress shirt, tan hoodie, black leather jacket ensemble. He figured the guy was like Steve Jobs and only had twenty copies of the exact same outfit, but even so, it had been another indication that something about him was extremely off.

But today he was dressed like a tourist. A big, loose-fitting white t-shirt with the ubiquitous I <3 NY logo on it, a backpack with two water bottles strapped on the side, and a pair of binoculars around his neck. If Peter didn't know any better, he'd say Mr. Mercer was dressed up for a fun day at the zoo.

But without the dark, threatening clothes he always wore, the tautness of his muscles, sickly paleness of his skin, and out-of-place grimace of an expression were all the more apparent. He was almost comical standing in line for tickets, sort of like if one were to run into Lex Luthor shopping at Walmart. Though, Peter supposed, it'd probably be worse if he _had_ been dressed in his leathers. Peter hypothesized that a glare unbalanced by his awful choice of clothes would probably be enough to make babies cry.

And then, Mr. Mercer's head snapped around in his direction. Peter's heart jumped as his spidey sense went zing, and he heard his name said with incredulous disbelief over the chatter of the crowd. Their eyes met and the jig was up; nervously, Peter approached, ready to flee if Mr. Mercer attacked.

“Uh, fancy meeting you here, Mr. Mercer,” he said, weakly.

Mr. Mercer's brow furrowed. “What are you doing here, Peter?”

“Oh, just, you know. I'm studying the animals while on break, you know…interest in biology…”

It sounded totally fake even to himself. Behind Mr. Mercer's hulking form, the woman he was with peeked out at him.

Now that he saw her up close, she bore a striking resemblance to the man at her side. Mostly it was in the eyes - they both had these pale, sharp blue irises. On Mr. Mercer they were intimidating and predatory, but on her they seemed piercing in another way - like she was very curious, almost playful. Mr. Mercer’s gaze was like a hungry wolf; this girl's was like a mischievous gull. From a distance he'd thought they might have been dating, but up close, he revised his assessment to "related."

“Did you say Peter, Alex?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he responded. Her curious expression turned to a grin as she shoved the man aside and stood before him, looking him up and down before finally offering her hand for a handshake.

“I'm Dana,” she said. “Alex is my brother. It's so nice to meet you; I've heard a lot about you.”

“Oh, uh…” He took her hand and shook it. Unlike her brother, who was always feverishly warm, her skin was cool - humanly so, still warmer than the crisp spring breeze. It was completely... _normal_. “I'm Peter. Sorry to say, but Mr. Mercer never talks about himself, so I had no idea you existed.”

“Oh, really?” She asked, grinning wryly at him. “Why's that, Alex? Embarrassed?”

“No,” he said, immediately. “It just doesn't come up.”

Dana laughed. “Hey, listen, Peter, thanks for putting up with this asshole. I know he's a lot of trouble, but I'm glad you're sticking with him.”

“Yeah, um, I mean, it's a huge honor to work with him and Dr. Banner,” he said, which was not technically a lie. “I'm learning a lot.” Also not a lie. “Definitely top five labs I've ever worked.”

“Ha!” Dana laughed. “Only top five? Alex is that bad, huh?”

Mr. Mercer just grunted and turned away.

“Sorry.”

“I'm joking, Alex, joking,” she assured him, patting his arm. “So, Peter, have you been to the zoo before?”

“A few times with my aunt,” he said. “Usually the one in Central Park, though, it's way closer to where I live. We came up this way for my birthday once, though.”

“Kickass. You think you could be our guide, then? I wanna see all the big predators, like tigers and lions and bears and shit.”

Before he could even stop himself, he was nodding. “Yeah, totally,” he said. “Though it's been a few years so my memory's _really_ rusty.”

Actually, this was a very surreal experience. It was probably that very surreality that allowed him to continue chatting so casually with Dana as they migrated through the line. Here he had been expecting Mr. Mercer to be driven to some secret base, some fortress of solitude, or to some pick-up point for a UFO, some kind of evidence that Mr. Mercer wasn't and never had been human, and instead he'd gotten about as explicit proof as humanly possible that Mr. Mercer _was_. A _sister_ \- he had to keep repeating it to himself, in order to make himself believe it. He had a _sister_.

And Dana herself was _normal_. She was twenty-one. She was working on a degree in journalism at NYU when the outbreak hit. She'd never gone to any zoo before because their family had been super poor, but she’d always wanted to. She liked superhero comics (there was a store that sold them near where her brother worked, and she'd flip through them while she waited for his shift to end), she liked indie rock, she liked nature documentaries.

She was very New York - that was to say, he instantly and totally believed she was born and raised, one local to another, cynical and sarcastic and brusque and witty. Her brother, too, even though he was dressed like that, was New York born and raised, though honestly Peter would have accepted if his hometown had been Cygnus A in the Andromeda borough.

However, like her brother, her existence was _entirely_ baffling.

A sister. Mr. Mercer, the scariest guy Peter knew, whose very humanity was in question, who set off his spidey sense by the mere act of existing, had a sister. Full-blooded, apparently, _somehow_. Nine years apart because dad left when mom was jailed for possession, came back when she got out, and left again. And they looked it - Mr. Mercer's hair was darker and curlier, but their eyes, their noses, their builds - everything screamed “siblings,” or maybe cousins from a fucked-up family.

Everything Peter had built up about Mr. Mercer's home life shattered instantly. He assumed the man returned each day to a room devoid of niceties or into a charging bay, to wait out the wee hours of the night compiling the day's events into hard memory, or reviewing his notes on humanity while snacking on raw meat. But a sister - one with pizza and coffee preferences, one with pop culture knowledge, one considering what game console to get for the living room TV - that suddenly transformed his mental image from “dark, cramped metal cell” to “nice upscale apartment with sofas.”

It made him doubt his own existence. Like, if Alex Mercer was a real human being, then did that make Peter Parker the fake?

“Four adult tickets,” Mr. Mercer said to the cashier. “95 dollars, 93 cents,” he added, before the cashier could finish keying it in.

“...That's right,” they said.

Four tickets? Mr. Mercer distributed the wristbands amongst the three of them, despite Peter's protests upon realizing he'd been paid for, but that still left one unaccounted for - until none other than _Mr. Stark_ walked up, dressed “incognito” in an expensive polo and sunglasses, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw Peter.

“Kid, what are you doing here?” he asked, eyeing the paper strap around his wrist.

“Uh, I'm going to the zoo, I guess - what are _you_ doing here, Mr. Stark?”

And the billionaire looked up from him at the two siblings - Dana ignoring him, and Mr. Mercer shooting him a signature glare - and sighed.

“That's a good question,” he said without elaboration, taking the wristband from Mr. Mercer's hand and fiddling with it.

“You didn't have to buy me one of these,” he muttered. “I've got a free pass to every attraction in New York.”

“I thought you were trying not to stand out.”

“‘Incognito’ doesn't mean ‘inconvenienced,’ malaria. Whatever, let's go look at the stinky animals already.”

“Found one,” Dana said, lazily.

“Har har. You're a real charmer, you know that, sweetie?” Tony brushed past her towards the zoo gate, and Dana rolled her eyes.

“Well, even with him here I'm sure we can have a fun trip to the zoo,” Dana said. “Come on, Peter. Exotic animals aren't going to gawk at themselves!”

“I need to be supervised,” Mr. Mercer said. “Shouldn't we follow Tony?”

“If we lose him we can just put out a missing child call on the intercom. It's _fine_ , Alex.”

“But I need to be supervised.”

“Um,” Peter interjected, “Can I ask why you need to be supervised?”

“Those are the rules,” Mr. Mercer said, explaining nothing.

“He _doesn't_ ,” Dana sighed. “He just needs to have a good time. Alex, come on. If Tony wants to go sulk because he's mad we aren't grateful to ride in his shitty expensive car, let him. It's his fault we got here, like, an hour later than if you'd taken us. What do I always tell you?”

He looked confused. “Try to have footsteps?”

“No, the other thing, the one about driving.”

“Oh. New Yorkers don't drive.”

“Damn straight,” Dana said, leading the way in the opposite direction.

“Try to have footsteps…” Peter mumbled to himself. “So I'm not crazy...I'm not the only one who noticed he doesn't…”

Eventually, Mr. Stark found his way back to the group, subdued and obviously miffed that no one had followed after him. Dana and Mr. Mercer mostly just ignored him, Dana dragging her brother from exhibit to exhibit, while Peter jogged to keep up. They quickly arrived at the tiger exhibit, which Dana had been most excited for, and it did not disappoint - in fact, as soon as Mr. Mercer had gotten close, it leapt up to its feet and began pacing along the glass.

“Whoa,” Dana breathed, leaning over the exhibit bars. “Tigers are so _big_. What do you think, Alex? Could you take it in a fight?”

“Yeah. Easy.”

“Do animals normally come up to the glass like this?” Dana marveled.

“No,” her brother answered.

A small crowd had gathered around as the tiger paced warily in front of the glass, its fur standing on end, its gaze locked with Mr. Mercer's stony glare.

So far, every mammalian creature had had one of two reactions upon their approach: either it backed away, hissing in fear, or, like the tiger, it began moving as if gearing up for a fight to defend its territory.

Presumably, only most mammals and some birds had the brainpower necessary to recognize Mr. Mercer as a threat - and recognize him as a threat they did, though Peter felt like he was going crazy, since he was the only member of the group that seemed to notice. Tony disliked crowds that weren't gathered to see him, so he hung back while three of them gawked, and Dana had no point of reference, Peter supposed, though he also thought that even with that being the case, wasn't it obvious something was up?

“Wow, that, uh, tiger, sure is, uh...getting kind of close to the glass…” he prompted.

“Sure is!” Dana said, happily taking photos with a small digital camera. “Hey, Alex, you think you can get it to, like, attack? Oh, I guess that'd be kinda mean to the tiger, though. Nevermind.”

“I don't know,” Mr. Mercer answered. “Never seen a tiger up close before.”

“Hey, Peter,” Dana turned to him. “Can you take a photo of us with it?”

“Oh, uh, sure,” he said, the camera already being shoved into his hands. He backed up a few paces and Dana grabbed Mr. Mercer by the arm (he didn't budge when she tried to pull him close, so she opted instead to pull close to him) and gave a big grin.

“Smile, Alex,” she whispered, and Mr Mercer...well, Mr. Mercer _tried_.

His lips pulled up, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and generally gave off the impression of a condescending, knowing smirk, which made Peter's non-spidey alarm bells start ringing. The only people he'd ever seen wear that particular facial expression before were supervillains and math teachers.

Was _everything_ this guy did menacing? Had it always been that way, and that was why his sister was so used to it??

The flash symbol on the screen caught his eye.

He turned it on and counted down for them, and with a click and a flash the first photo was taken. “Oh, shoot,” he said, pretending the flash had been an accident. “Let me take another.”

But he'd seen the preview image, and it had told him more than enough: many animals active at night had a tapetum lucidum, a reflective film at the back of their eyes that helped them see in the dark. It was why cats in flash photography sometimes looked like they were charging laser beams. Humans didn't have it, and, as expected, Dana, the obvious human, looked totally normal in the shot. But her brother…

Between the smirk and the brightly glowing eyes, Peter felt goosebumps pricking up on his neck. Who was this guy? _What_ was this guy? If Dana was a real person and Mr. Mercer was not, then how did they get to be siblings?

He took another photo, for real this time, and Mr. Mercer's expression immediately fell back into his usual glum scowl, to Peter's relief.

“...Are you okay?” Dana said, suddenly, her brow furrowing in concern. “You look kind of sick, Peter.”

“He doesn't have a fever. His body temperature is always lower than normal,” Mr. Mercer said, immediately. “By a couple degrees, Celsius.”

“Yowza. Isn't that pretty bad?”

“He's fine,” Mr. Mercer said.

Peter stiffened. “I'm what?”

“Cold,” Mr. Mercer said. “Bruce told me it's normal for you.”

“Uh...yeah,” Peter said, bewildered. “Um, and I guess you're always really warm? Is that, uh. Is that rude to say?”

“It's normal,” Mr. Mercer said.

“It's great during the winter,” Dana pitched in. “He's like a furnace, which is good because a lot of the places we were staying didn't have heating. We end up huddling together like penguins.”

“Like penguins?”

“Yep.”

Peter pointed at Mr. Mercer. “With him?”

“Yep.”

Dana was the bravest person he knew.

“I’m hungry,” Mr. Stark whined, walking up to the group.

Dana rolled her eyes and checked her phone. “Yeah, I guess it is about time for lunch. Are you okay with that, Peter?”

He glanced up at Mr. Mercer, and then back down when his boss returned the stare. Did he eat human food?

One way to find out.

“Yeah, totally,” Peter said.

 

* * *

 

“53 dollars and 43 cents,” Mr. Mercer said, as soon as he finished placing the order.

“Your total is - uh, yeah. $53.43.”

Dana gave a small amused snort, and leaned into Peter's place to stage whisper to him.

“He's always done that, ever since we were kids,” she said. “We used to count every penny, but I think he also liked showing off how smart he was.”

“Well, it's not working,” Mr. Stark said, unimpressed. “Anyone can do that, it's basic mental math.”

“Did you wait in line with us just so you could be an asshole?”

“I also wanted to read the menu.”

Dana rolled her eyes. Peter shifted uncomfortably on his feet as the grown-ups fought.

“Look, little miss brother complex, if you'd let me get a word in edgewise at the door you'd know that I'm _deeply and truly_ sorry for dinner all those weeks ago.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not the one you _owe_ the apology to,” Dana retorted. “I know you can walk in on my brother's lab whenever, and you haven't said a word to him.”

“Uh, what happened at dinner?” Peter asked, but was ignored.

“Yeah, well, _I_ heard he's already over it. Maybe you could take a cue.”

“It doesn't matter if he's over it, you still owe him a ‘deep and true’ apology.”

What dinner? Peter thought. More importantly, why hadn't he been invited?

“Food,” Mr. Mercer said, curtly, carrying several plastic takeout containers and effectively ending the conversation. They found an empty table and sat down, Dana and Mr. Stark still fuming at each other.

“Hey, germs,” Mr. Stark said.

Mr. Mercer glanced dully up at him. “Yeah?”

“I'm _deeply and truly_ sorry for what happened at dinner.”

“Oh.” Mr. Mercer considered this for a moment. "I'm also...deeply and truly sorry. For what happened at dinner.”

“There,” Dana said. “Was that so hard?”

“No,” Mr. Mercer answered. Clearly, he didn't realize Dana had directed her question at Tony. Or that it was rhetorical.

“What happened at dinner?” Peter asked.

“Tony was an asshole,” Dana said.

“Germs pulled a _knife_ on me.”

“I pulled a knife on Tony.”

“BECAUSE Tony was being an asshole, okay?” Dana clarified.

Heedless of the conversation, Alex opened the first of his three boxes, revealing a funnel cake covered in powdered sugar. Peter was left unable to say anything at all, eyes wide and body stiff, glancing worriedly down at the plastic knife in Mr. Mercer’s hand.

He pulled a knife on Mr. Stark? He pulled a knife on him but was still allowed to stay?

A thick silence settled over them, and Peter decided he hated the silence. It gave him too much time to imagine Mr. Mercer going after him.

“So, uh,” Peter said, straining to come up with some kind of harmless conversation topic. “What's everyone's favorite animal they've seen so far? I, um. I liked the monkeys.”

“The tourists,” Mr. Stark answered.

“The tiger was great,” Dana said. “I've only ever seen videos; they're way, way bigger in real life than I thought they'd be.”

“Bifidobacterium.”

“He means multicellular animal, Alex,” Dana said. “Sorry. My brother really likes microbes.”

“Uh,” Mr. Mercer said, clearly not prepared to answer the new question. “They...are all fine? I liked...the seagulls.”

“Those aren't one of the exhibits,” Mr. Stark pointed out, gleefully. “They're pests, like the tourists.”

“If ‘tourists’ counts as an answer, then ‘seagulls’ does, too,” Dana retorted. “Why seagulls?”

As if in response, Mr. Mercer stood from the table, turned, and approached a group of gulls that was fighting over some spilled fries just a couple tables over. These birds clearly made most of their living off of human beings, and weren't very smart besides, so they let him get quite close, within arm's reach.

This turned out to be a mistake on their part as Mr. Mercer, with superhuman dexterity, reached down and caught one, its wings caught between his upper arm and body, beak held shut by his his hand, its feet thrashing uselessly in empty air.

“Oh my god,” Dana groaned into her hands.

He returned, triumphant, a seagull that had given up on life prisoner in his iron grip.

“They let you touch them,” he explained. “There's no rules about it.”

The seagull wasn't “letting” him touch it so much as it had no say in the matter. Having been in its position once himself, Peter felt a deep synergy with the unfortunate creature.

“Alex,” Dana sighed, rubbing her temples. “Can you let the poor thing go? _Away_ from the table.”

"It's clean."

"I don't care."

“Alright,” he said. He wandered off a ways before releasing the poor thing. It fell unceremoniously to the ground and went running in a mad flurry of feathers and squawking.

Mr. Mercer returned, as Mr. Stark gawked and Dana tried desperately to ignore the stares of onlookers. Unfettered by any sense of embarrassment, or quite possibly any sense that he'd done anything strange at all, Mr. Mercer polished off his funnel cake, and opened a second box to reveal a second cake.

At this point, it was fair to say that Peter was scared out of his wits.

This was easily the most stressful trip to the zoo he'd ever gone to. He was now fully convinced that Alex Mercer was some kind of chaotic entity, some Lovecraftian horror wearing human skin, some kind of eldritch vaudeville act bumbling its way through a facsimile of human life.

In the time it took the rest of them to get halfway through their meal, Mr. Mercer had finished off his second funnel cake to reveal a third, final funnel cake in box number three. And no one batted an eye at this.

Dana, Peter decided, must have been brainwashed. She was a nice, normal human being whose brother's soul had been sucked out and replaced with something _else_ , and she’d been hypnotized into thinking it was normal. Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner must have also fallen victim. Was what they were working on really penicillium? Or was that a lie, and was it actually alien egg spores? And was he still going to get a letter of recommendation out of it?

It was only through sheer force of will that he managed to continue eating like nothing was wrong. If the _entity_ sitting across from him realized Peter knew the awful truth, he was sure that his brain would be next.

Irrationally, his fear turned into anger. If Mr. Mercer was even the _slightest bit_ good at hiding it; he wouldn't even be in this mess! If Mr. Mercer was even a _little bit good_ at pretending he was human, Peter would never have figured it out!

“Are you going to eat that?” He asked, pointing at the salad mix Peter had been picking at for the past five minutes.

“You can - you can have it,” he said, sliding it over. Best to appease the monster until he could figure out how to snap everyone else out of its brain-sucking grip.

Dana heaved a heavy sigh and recovered, addressing Alex with the tone of voice one used when speaking to a kindergartner. "Alex, what do you say when someone gives you something?"

“Thanks,” said Mr. Mercer.

 

* * *

 

After lunch, the group split up. Mr. Mercer wanted to see the birds of the world exhibit while they had some baby hoatzins on loan, while Dana wanted to see the more traditional sea lions and penguins. She and Mr. Stark, clearly still not on the best of terms, had elected to part ways. Mr. Mercer had then stared Peter down and ordered he go with Dana, and Dana had elbowed her brother, and Mr. Mercer had tacked on a “please.”

Not that Peter really wanted to go see _more_ birds with Mr. Mercer. He was pretty happy to oblige with this request.

So they parted ways, Dana walking at a casual rate while Mr. Stark jogged to keep up with Mr. Mercer's angry stride. It was Dana who started a conversation this time.

“So Peter, I actually wanted to ask - what's a kid like you doing working in my brother's lab in Stark Tower?” She tilted her head, hands in her pockets. “You're pretty young.”

“Not _that_ young…”

She sized him up. “My guess: seventeen, but only recently.”

He blinked. “How’d you know?”

“Lucky,” Dana said, grinning. “I used up all my bad luck in the outbreak, it's been triple sevens ever since. So that makes you a junior, huh? And if you're a junior...you're trying to score some bragging rights for college apps. How's my aim?”

“Uh…”

Sharp blue eyes peered at him, and he wondered if Dana wasn’t also some kind of non-human, just better at blending in, until she snickered at his expression. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Peter. Whatsa matter? Never talked to a journalism student before?”

“Right. Right. Journalism student. You do this for a living.” He forced himself to calm down. Mr. Mercer was some kind of unholy creature in human skin, but Dana - Dana was normal. Or at least she was really good at acting normal. “Yeah, I - if I do a good job, Dr. Banner might write me a letter of recommendation. I live with my aunt, and we can’t really afford a good school, so…”

“Grabbing every bit of leverage you can get, huh?” Dana asked. “I can relate. It’s dog-eat-dog out there. What schools are you looking at?”

Peter shrugged. “I mean...with a letter from Dr. Banner, I could probably even go to Princeton or MIT, but…”

“Need that scholarship money?”

“...Yeah,” he admitted.

“Dunno why Tony doesn’t just offer to pay,” Dana said. “Money like that’s pocket change to the guy.”

“No, no, I mean, he’s already done a _lot_ for me. A lot. I can’t ask him to pay for college, too. He’s not, like, my dad or anything.”

“Yeah, yeah. I guess I wouldn’t want to be indebted to him, either.” Her countenance turned sunny again. “But when it comes to college applications, he’s not the only one who knows a thing or two. You’re looking at the recipient of a full-ride scholarship to NYU, you know.”

Peter blinked. “Really?”

“Oh yeah. My brother was, like, _obsessed_ with college and making sure I got in it. I know _all_ the tricks - though,” she looked Peter up and down. “You seem like a good kid, so maybe I can’t teach you _everything_ I know.”

“That sounds sketchy. Tell me more.”

“Well, there _might_ have been some _mild_ blackmail involved in scoring my grant,” Dana said, evasively. “But, hey, journalism student, right? I think being able to dig up the dirt on the dean of NYU is pretty good proof I deserved the money.”

Peter stared at her in alarm. “Is that legal?”

“No, but it's fine. Turns out I didn't even need to use it, since I was already getting the scholarship. But I thought his wife deserved to know, so I sent a little birdie her way. Free of charge.”

She stretched her arms upward, letting them relax behind her head. “But I probably would have used it, if I needed to. I’m not really a good person. And you do what you have to, I guess.”

Peter frowned. “I dunno…I mean, for college applications, it seems like too much.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn't really about college as much as it was about getting out,” she said. “When you grow up like me and Alex do, you'll do anything. I had straight-A's, stuco pres, part-time job, presidential community service award, and a perfect score on my ACT. I applied for, like, twenty different scholarships. I guess to us, blackmail just seemed like a reasonable next step.”

“So Alex also went to college?”

“Yeah. Columbia U. He wanted to get into Harvard - and he was smart enough, I know he was - but you need connections to get into a place like that, and that was the one thing he didn't have.”

She grinned. “Which makes _you_ lucky! Mister I-got-a-letter-of-recommendation-from-Bruce. So I'm gonna tell you what you need to do; you gotta auction yourself. Go to Princeton and tell them MIT's offering you this much money, then to back to MIT and tell ‘em Princeton's figure. The big-name colleges LOVE duking it out.”

Peter nodded. “Yeah, okay…”

“Alex says you're a smart kid. High praise, coming from him. I think you'll be fine.”

It was a bit relieving, actually, hearing that from her. “He says that about me?”

“Yeah. That, and apparently you’ve got good reflexes. That's basically all he told me about you besides your name, so I guess your reflexes must be _really_ good. And I don't really think I want to know why he found that out in the middle of a laboratory.”

Peter rubbed his arm. “Yeah. Hey, uh, speaking of your brother, um...has he...always...been like that?”

“No, actually,” she said. “I guess I keep forgetting he's weird if you're not used to him.”

“Understatement.”

Dana laughed. “The outbreak kinda...changed him. He's like a totally different person from the guy he was when we were kids. But, you know, my brother is my brother, even if he lost, like, ALL his social skills. Actually, he's nicer now than he used to be.”

That was hard to believe. “Nicer?”

“It was a low bar,” Dana said. “So I mean, seriously. Thanks for putting up with him. He probably likes you more than you think he does.”

They reached the sea lion pen, where the animals were sunbathing on fake brown rocks. Dana leaned against the railing and Peter followed suit.

Mr. Mercer liked him? It was hard to tell behind his stony glare and angry scowl, but even if she was mind-controlled, Dana seemed to know him well. So maybe Mr. Mercer did. Maybe this was a ploy to lower his guard so they could suck out his brain, but, hey. Maybe Mr. Mercer actually did.

“Did you make it out of the outbreak alright?” she asked, after a lengthy pause.

“Yeah,” Peter said. “I mean, we had Avengers connections and they got us out before the infection really hit. Even then, our area was kind of a safe zone the whole time, so...pretty much everyone I know is still alive. But…”

“Yeah, I getcha,” Dana said. “It was a crazy three weeks. Hard to believe it ever happened at all. It's pretty insane to imagine that you can walk ten minutes down and hit a quarantine line.”

“I hear they think they can get rid of all the Infected within two years,” Peter said.

“Yeah, I talked to Alex about that. ‘If nothing else happens,’ he said. Really ominously. Which isn't, like, comforting.”

No, not even a little bit.

“Does he know a lot about the infection?” Something happened to him during the outbreak, after all. He felt like he was beginning to piece the mystery together, if only he could keep digging. Mr. Stark had called him a variety of virus-related nicknames while they'd been chatting, too. There was definitely a connection there.

“Sometimes he tells me he knows too much,” she said. “He'll brood about it for days if you'll let him.”

“If he knows so much, shouldn't he be working on one of the teams trying to find a cure?”

“He's got his reasons,” Dana said, evasively. “I think mostly he just wants to be done with the virus. Actually...he was on the research team that made it in the first place. But they thought they were doing - what's it called, ‘gain-of-function’ stuff. Like, making it more dangerous so they could study its effects. And they were looking into doing gene therapy with the virus, too.”

“Virotherapy,” Peter said, recalling Mr. Mercer's dissertation.

“Yeah. My brother, he's really smart. He liked to brag, so maybe my source is biased, but he used to tell me he was ‘the best at viruses’. And then he made the deadliest virus known to man, so...maybe that proves him right, I dunno.”

Peter quickly filed that information away for later, but he felt like he couldn't keep his cool if he probed too deeply into it now. Mr. Mercer had graduated from Columbia U, had been on the team that had made the Red Death for the government, and then _something_ happened to him during the Outbreak. The threads were starting to come together. At all costs, he needed to stay on Dana's good side.

“You’re pretty smart, too. I mean, perfect score on the ACT.”

“It's a cinch if you know what they're looking for. Besides, my brother was forcing me to do practice tests since elementary school. He's the smart one in the family, I just got his leftover genes." She smiled. "You know, I could probably drill you, if you wanted. I'm no Bruce, but I get how tough high school can be.”

Dana was _so nice_. He almost forgot his quest for a moment as his thoughts strayed to bragging to Ned about having someone so cool be willing to help him out with standardized tests.

“...Maybe I’ll take you up on that,” Peter said. He remembered his objective, to gather information. “And you wanted to know what console to get for your apartment, right? I only have a Wii U, but I can bring it over and you can try it out.”

Dana's eyes sparkled. “That’d be _kickass_ ,” she said, emphatically. “Yes. You have to, I'm deciding it right now. Actually - “

She pulled out her phone. “What's your number?”

“Oh, uh, 555-8789.”

“Awesome. I’ll send you a - “

A call came in as she was typing - she saw the name and pulled a concerned frown. “RAGLAND,” read the caller ID.

“Why is he...hold on, I'm sorry, Peter, I gotta take this.”

“Yeah, no, no problem.”

She walked away a short distance, to the shadow of the bleachers for spectators of the sea lion show. With his super-hearing, Peter could make out her side of the conversation - he wasn't eavesdropping, he promised, he just couldn't help it. Physically.

“Hey, Ragland. What's up? ...Are you sure? Shit. ...Yeah. Yeah, I'll call him. Stay safe out there.”

It was a short call, but she immediately followed it up by dialing someone else, who picked up immediately.

“Alex, Dr. Ragland just called - “

“Hey! Underoos. Over here.”

Mr. Stark was jogging up to him, and Peter ran to meet him halfway. Iron Man was fit, so he didn't seem particularly winded from having jogged up all the way from the aviary, but he'd also definitely jogged up all the way from the aviary.

“What's wrong?”

“We've got a situation,” he said, cutting straight to the point. “Down near Chinatown. I’d go with, but it's an Infection thing.”

Peter nodded, grimly. They'd tested their cells against samples of the virus when they'd first been called in, and while Steve's cells were hardy enough to resist the disease and Peter's were sufficiently inhuman that the disease ignored him, normal humans like Mr. Stark were still fully susceptible. One breach in the suit's hull and Mr. Stark became one of the quarantined ill.

“Cap's already down there. You'll rendezvous with him and he'll give you the deets. JARVIS will send the coordinates to your phone.”

“Alright. Where's Mr. Mercer?”

“Back at the aviary. He spent the _whole time_ imitating the birds and screaming at me and I couldn't take it anymore. Go, suit up. I'll take care of the sister.”

Peter nodded and ran off toward the entrance, ducking into an empty part of the parking lot.

“If nothing else happens,” Mr. Mercer had told his sister.

Peter hoped this wasn't that “something else.”


	6. Chapter 6

The Red Zone. That was what the locals called the part of town behind the quarantine line, named after all the red caution tape patterned with the biohazard symbol. It was like a scene out of a disaster movie - bombed-out buildings, empty streets, deep gouges in the asphalt from where something or some _things_ had torn their way through.

Closer to the border, it was more like a ghost town, covered in patrolling tanks and footsoldiers armed to the teeth and in full-body armor, dotted with decontamination tents and buildings repurposed as quarantine bays where doctors desperately attempted to save what few they could from succumbing to the disease. The further inwards you went, the less it was a warzone, and the more it looked like a scene from a gory zombie action flick - it sent chills up Peter's spine every time he saw it, the buildings covered in pulsating flesh and the streets littered with grotesque, bloated, once-human bodies.

Peter was cutting through the heart of the Red Zone to get to where Captain America was waiting down at the south end border. Zombies stared up at him as he swung through the streets, reaching toward him with twisted hands. He was always on high alert around here, since every so often he needed to jerk out of the way of a pouncing Hunter, but largely the Infected didn't pose a problem, being relatively dim-witted and animalistic. Their numbers, more than their strength, were the real threat, especially since they were landlocked and he was flying through the air. So while he was being careful, he wasn't overly cautious, just quietly, dutifully swinging his way toward the rendezvous point.

And then his spidey-sense _spiked_.

He just barely managed to change direction before the flaming wreckage of a car went screaming past, crashing into a crowd of zombies and sending them flying. Peter had only seconds to gather his wits when _something_ else went jumping after it, a blur of black armor and enormous claws.

Peter hoisted himself up onto a rooftop to get a better look. Out of the wreckage of the car emerged a human figure, a huge, hulking man wearing an black military uniform with white fatigues. It was hard to make out from this distance, but there were odd, metal-looking shards running down his spine. He rolled out of the way just as the black, armored monster landed with a huge boom, cracking the asphalt with the weight of its impact, and Peter got his first clear look at it as it leapt out of the smoke, pouncing on the soldier with the clear intent to kill.

What Peter had thought was armor was, upon closer inspection, a carapace - the monster was humanoid, covered in shiny, black, spiky plating. Its arms ended in a pair of massive claws, four per hand, and its face - its face was smooth, like a helmet, with five, six greasy, insect-like eyes peering out from holes near the bottom.

This time, the soldier was too slow to move out of the way, and the claws tore straight through his armor, blood splashing onto the streets. The soldier staggered, and in that time, the monster's other hand trembled, melted, and morphed into a big, bulbous wrecking ball, which slammed into the soldier's chest with enough force to send him flying.  The sick sound of cracking bones rang in Peter's ears, but the monster wasn’t satisfied. It jumped again toward its prey, practically jet-propelling itself into the downed soldier's chest, and its arms morphed once more - this time into humanoid, five-fingered hands, each finger ending in a sharp, angry talon.

The soldier, like all of the ones patrolling the infected zone, was wearing a reinforced gas mask. One of the monster's hands dug into the metal, crumpling the glass and steel in its grip, ripping it away. The other hand - as Peter watched - dug itself into the soldier's face and eyes. The soldier let out a horrible, inhuman scream, as - as _something_ happened to him. Peter couldn't see it from this angle, but the sound of the scream was so horrible he almost slapped his hands to his ears. Black tendrils erupted out of the monster's hand, stifling the soldier's screeching, until only silence remained.

Peter was too far away to stop the monster from doing this, but as it was clutching its head in pain, Peter collided with it, throwing all of his momentum and weight into a kick to its side, sending it crashing through a brick wall.

He looked down at where the soldier lay and regretted it immediately. There was no soldier left, just a massive bloodstain and jagged metal pieces sticking up out of the viscera.

“That's _nasty_ ,” Peter breathed, before realizing that the monster was now rising out of the rubble. Drawing fast, Peter shot his webbing at it, but - perhaps to be expected - there was little effect. The monster staggered, more from surprise than the actual impact, its arms pinned to its sides - until spikes erupted from the chinks in its armor and tore their way through. With a speed unbefitting its hulking figure, it dodged Peter's second blast - so Peter instead rushed in with his fists, only to have his arm caught mid-air in a steel grip. The monster pulled him close and grabbed him by the throat, lifting him easily up off the ground, not even flinching as Peter kicked and struggled against it. Every blow against its carapace fell with a dull thud; not only was its body hard as stone, but it was solid, too.

Six cold, alien eyes peered up at him, expressionless and unreadable. It tilted its head to the side, grip tightening, as if considering what to do with the hero struggling in its grip. Peter felt his airway squeeze shut as the pressure increased, his thrashing growing more and more desperate.

Then the monster moved - leapt out of the building, back into the streets. It adjusted its grip, reared back, and the next thing Peter knew, he was whistling through the air.

He was spinning far too wildly to correct himself, and it was pretty likely that stopping himself with webbing might dislocate his shoulder. Hitting the ground like this wouldn't kill him, but it would hurt like a motherfucker. Already, from what glimpses he could catch as he whirled through the air, the monster was a small dot in the distance - by the time he could return to that spot, it'd be long gone. He squeezed his eyes shut and braced for impact.

When he crashed, it wasn't, like he’d expected, into concrete, but into a solid pair of arms, instead. He was still going so fast that it would probably bruise, but if the other person hadn't been knocked over by the impact, it had to be -

“Captain America,” Peter breathed, peeking upwards. “Um...I’ve fallen for you?”

Steve just grimaced, setting him down. “You okay?”

“Nothing's broken. You?”

“Bruised, but I'll be fine." He grimaced a little. "What happened?”

“Right! Right. I, uh, I think I ran into the ‘situation’.”

Steve's expression turned grim. “So you know what we're dealing with?”

“Yeah. Big, alien-looking monster with like, shapeshifting arms, right?" Peter shuddered. "I saw it tear a soldier apart.”

“...No,” Steve said, confused. “No, that's not _...what_ did you run into? The things we're supposed to be fighting off _are_ the soldiers. Big ones, with metal spines. Some kind of supersoldier that Blackwatch didn't tell us about.”

Peter was now mirroring Steve's confusion.

“I, uh, I saw one get...eaten.”

“...Well,” Steve said, grimly. “I guess I've got something to add to my report. Come on - we've got to make sure none of them break the quarantine line.”

 

* * *

 

“You look like shit,” Tony said, setting a beer on the table, which Steve took, gratefully.

“Been _through_ some crap today,” he sighed, cracking it open. It wasn't really that the supersoldiers were particularly strong - more that they had _numbers_ , and refused to stay down. Eventually, after hours of fighting, the supersoldiers fell back toward the hives, and military reinforcements had arrived. With them now holding down the fort, Steve could take a break, and Peter could go home.

In the end, they never saw the monster Peter had told him about, but then Steve had returned to a second emergency. ZEUS had disappeared from the zoo, his sister left behind. She insisted that it was fine, under control, but refused to say any more about his whereabouts or activities. That was probably why Bruce had also been dragged out to the meeting, even though he was still clearly sick and hopped up on flu medication. Dana sat uncomfortably to the side, because they wanted to make sure she was supervised, as Pepper sat next to her for moral support.

“So,” Tony said, addressing the group. “What the hell is going on?”

“I wish I could tell you,” Steve sighed. He rubbed his forehead, still exhausted. “What I heard from ground troops is that part of their main attack force suddenly went berserk and turned on them. These aren't normal soldiers - I actually don't even know if they're human. Whatever they are, we were never told about them.”

Tony sighed through his nose. He turned to Dana.

“You know something about this, don't you?”

She met his glare with one of her own.

“Maybe, maybe not. Why don't you try asking Blackwatch first?”

“We did,” Tony said. “They're dodging. Using every bureaucratic loophole they can to slow down the info. So, definitely guilty, but not exactly helpful.”

Dana snorted, without humor, and looked away.

“Dana,” Steve said, “if you do know something that can help us out…”

“Then what? You'll try to kill my brother quickly so he feels no pain?” There was venom in her voice, but her expression was only deadpan when she turned to look at him. “Steve, you're a great guy. But I never agreed we'd be helping you out.”

“People are _dying_ ,” Tony said, exasperated.

“People are _always_ dying,” Dana snapped. “You weren't even here when the outbreak hit. I was.”

“Where is your brother, anyway? Huh? I'll tell you where he isn't: supervised.”

“He'll be back,” Dana said. “I’m the biggest hostage you've got.”

“Tony,” Pepper said, “Maybe you should step away for a moment.”

“This is my living room.”

“Yes, and maybe you should go enjoy your bedroom. Hm? Just take five.”

He stared at her over crossed arms, but acquiesced. “Fine.”

The moment he left, Dana visibly relaxed, closing her eyes and leaning back in the couch.

“Dana,” Pepper said, softly. “Is there anything we could give you in exchange for your information?”

Dana let out a big sigh, considered the question.

“You guys are probably planning to lock Alex up worse since he ran off like this, huh?”

Pepper met Steve's eyes. He hesitated, and nodded, looking down. Unfortunately, the timing was awful - a super-virus gone rogue at the same time as some bizarre, unknown virus-related occurrence? It wasn't like he was running to the store without Bruce to buy some emergency supplies. They couldn't just ignore this.

“Yes,” Pepper answered.

“Then I'll tell you if you overlook this,” Dana said. “I also don't know where he is, but he's not your enemy, and he'll definitely be back. If you guys look the other way on this one, I can tell you what I know about what's going on.”

“I think that's a pretty good deal,” Bruce said, sleepily, from where he was slumped over on a sofa. He yawned. “Alex is a good kid...he knows what's up.”

He looked like he was about to lose consciousness any moment, a heavy dose of Nyquil in his veins. “He’s a good kid,” he repeated, nodding sagely. “A good kid.”

Pepper pursed her lips. “JARVIS, can you convey this to Tony to see what he thinks?”

“Of course, madame,” he said. From the other room they could hear Tony's muffled exasperation, which lasted for quite some time before he let himself back in.

“Fine,” was all he said.

Steve turned to Dana, hands clasped, as she pushed herself forward on her seat, leaning in.

“First of all, absolutely do not tell Blackwatch where you got this info. If they know I know, they'll shoot me dead - whether or not I'm under your protection. It's worth the risk, if it means stopping up this particular leak.”

That certainly didn't bode well.

“Our lips are sealed,” Pepper promised. “Our source is completely anonymous.”

“Second, I won’t tell you how I know.”

“Alright, alright, sworn to secrecy,” Tony said, impatient. “You want us to sign a blood oath, while we’re at it?”

“Tony,” Pepper warned, but Dana didn't seem to care, just giving him a glare before moving on.

“They’re called the D-codes," she said. "They're infected with DX-1120 - it's another strain of the Redlight virus, one Blackwatch was experimenting with while GENTEK was handling Project Blacklight. A supersoldier serum."

Everyone flinched at those words, but Dana paid it no mind.

"They pushed it out early, ahead of schedule, when the outbreak hit. It's untested, and now we're seeing why that was a bad idea.”

“Oh, another supersoldier serum,” Bruce said, happily. “There are so many of those. But the only time it went well was Steve. But Steve got frozen in ice. It's always bad.”

“Is he...gonna be okay?” Dana asked, concerned.

“He's fine,” Tony said, quickly. “You were saying?”

“Right...well, I don't actually know why they're going berserk, but - “

“You _don’t know?_ ”

“Hey, up until this point you didn't even know what they _were_ ,” Dana snapped back.

“Tony, let her finish,” Pepper counseled. “I'm really sorry about him, Dana. Please, continue.”

“ _But_ , Alex is finding that out right now, and I can tell you how to fight them,” Dana finished. “If you're interested in that sort of thing.”

Tony looked at Steve. Since he was the one who'd be dealing with them on the ground tomorrow, it was his call. Steve took the cue.

“I'd really appreciate it,” he said. “No matter what I did, they just wouldn't go down.”

“Yeah, Alex says they're tough. I mean, they have to be. They're specifically made to be anti-Alex." She held up two fingers. "First of all, the virus gives them super strength - standard body augmentation stuff. Second, they also regenerate super fast, so you need to land a decisive hit, or keep up the damage until they can't heal anymore.”

She pointed to her neck. “The problem is, they've also got surgical mods. Their spines and the back half of their skulls are reinforced, and their ribs have been replaced, whole-ass. Their standard-issue armor also comes with Kevlar over their stomachs and sides.”

“...How are you supposed to fight them, then?” Steve asked, incredulous. If nothing short of a fatal blow could kill them, but they were that well-armored, no wonder they never stayed down.

Dana hesitated.

"...God, this is so gross," she sighed, rubbing her face with her palms. “Sorry, okay. Alex says he usually just keeps tearing them open until they run out of replacement biomass. He also said tearing out their throats, disemboweling them, or smashing their faces in all work, but it's hard to get them to stop moving long enough. Apparently, the armor is weaker at the joints, so sometimes he - cuts their limbs off. They're also easy to, uh…” she grimaced. “To cook. The armor doesn't breathe very well, and they've got a ton of metal in their bodies. A strong enough jolt of electricity can fry their brains, too. That's what Alex said.”

Tony let out a big sigh. “And you said these things were made to fight your brother?”

“Yeah.”

“And I’m guessing he's speaking from experience.”

“Yep.”

“They're not very good at their jobs, are they.”

“Nope.”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. Alex's methods, while horrific, were the only ways he could see the D-codes being defeated, as much as he hated to admit it. It was as brutal as everything else about the Infection.

The D-Codes were monsters to fight, but he supposed that meant Alex was an even greater one.

...Wait. He suddenly remembered the description of the "monster" Peter had seen in the Red Zone...

Before he could voice his revelation, there was a huge boom that resounded through the building. _Something_ had hit the glass, hard enough to rattle the refreshments on the coffee table, but it had fallen out of view. Everyone shot each other worried looks, until, a few seconds later, that _something_ returned, crawling on all fours up the side of the wall. Glowing blue eyes peered in at them, a white I <3 NY shirt fluttering in the breeze.

Alex’s face was screwed up in confusion, and he gave the glass another experimental pound with his fist. It didn’t budge an inch - after the Outbreak, Tony had replaced it with the same kind of impact-proof glass the Hulk containment unit was built out of. Evidently, it was tough enough to keep ZEUS at bay, too.

“Oh my god,” Dana groaned. “The _front door_ , Alex. There’s a _front door_.”

“Should I let him in, sir?” JARVIS asked.

“Uh...yeah,” Tony said, cautiously. “Sure.”

One of the windows slid inwards and to the side, the cool air blasting into the apartment. Alex immediately understood and crawled across the glass, biomass blooming out from his hands and feet to keep him anchored to the smooth surface of the building.

He dropped into the room. In the light, everyone realized he was carrying - _something_ on his back, lashed to his body with tendrils of biomass, which receded and dropped their charge unceremoniously onto the ground. A scientist, still in his white labcoat, pulled himself onto his knees, and desperately tried to crawl away. Alex grabbed the man by the back of his collar, and, easily as lifting a kitten, he picked him up and walked him toward the others.

He set the scientist down and shoved him toward the table, where the scientist collapsed.

“Talk,” Alex ordered.

The scientist was about forty, fifty years old, had greying brown hair and terrified green-brown eyes. As soon as he was able, he scrambled to turn back around to face Alex, backing up as far as he could. At this point, everyone had half-risen out of their seats. Was Alex hostile? Aggressing? Who was this man? The only thing that seemed to keep them from rushing in to subdue the virus was that Dana was completely unimpressed - embarrassed, even, head buried in her hands, like this was a common annoyance living with Alex brought.

“Pl-please don’t kill me,” the scientist begged.

“I said _talk_ ,” Alex growled.

“Alex,” Dana said, her voice cutting and sharp.

“Yeah?” He responded, without taking his eyes off his prey. It really didn't look like he was planning to let the man live.

“Can you tell us what's going on? Who is this guy, where you've been?”

It was only then that he tore his eyes off of the scientist, first to look at Dana, and then to scan the faces in the room. His countenance was grim, but then, Steve had never seen him look friendly.

“...This is Dr. Lou Caracolas,” he said, finally. ”Associate director of the D-Code project. I tracked him to his base.”

“You killed _everyone_!” Lou screamed.

“Most of them were already dead when I got there,” Alex growled back. “If I hadn't pulled you out of there, the D-codes would have gotten you.”

“Alex,” Dana said, quickly, before he could make the situation worse. “Start from the beginning. What happened?”

“Blackwatch made a new Runner,” Alex said, looking away. “I don’t know where he is, but he's driving the D-codes nuts. Making the virus inside them take over.”

A Runner? That was bad, _bad_ news if true. Even Tony couldn't hide the apprehension in his eyes.

“But they have a problem,” Alex continued, unbothered by their nervousness. “DX-1120 is heavily modified. Once it's in someone, it maps to their DNA and can't be infect anyone else. In other words, the Runner can't spread it. He needs samples of the virus that haven't been injected yet. They're going to be hitting up the outposts soon. But don't take my word for it.”

He took one menacing step closer to the scientist, who stifled a yelp.

“I figured you guys might not listen to me,” Alex said, “so I brought a present. He can confirm everything I just said. Right, Dr. Lou?”

“I - I won't talk.”

Alex narrowed his eyes. Dana was immediately by his side, tugging on his arm to pull him back.

“Alex,” she said, like she was trying to soothe a child. “Can you take Bruce back to his room? He needs bed rest and he's about to pass out, looks like.”

Alex’s head immediately turned in Bruce's direction, the doctor dozing off with drool leaking out a corner of his mouth.

“Who brought him up here?” Alex demanded. “I told you he had enteric adenovirus, Tony.”

“What?” Steve asked.

“Stomach bug. I'm a licensed doctor.”

“What?” Steve asked.

“Long story,” Tony sighed. “Yeah, Alex, do as your sister says and, uh, why don't you make him some chicken soup, you know, keep him hydrated? We only called him up here because _someone_ \- not naming names - went running off without an escort.”

Alex flinched slightly at the rebuke. “Sorry,” he mumbled, before stalking over to the doctor. He picked Bruce up with ease, carrying him out of the room like he was a baby, Bruce’s chin resting on Alex’s shoulder. Clearly, Alex was making an effort to be gentle, but he wasn't very good at it, and Steve was glad that he was not the one being manhandled that way. It was a good thing Bruce had so much medication running through his veins.

Dr. Lou only seemed to calm down after Alex had left the room, though he made no move to get up from the floor, staring rigidly ahead out the window, a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“You people are keeping a _monster_ ,” he mumbled into empty air. “You have no idea what you're getting yourselves into. No idea.”

Tony crossed his arms, appraising the man before him.

“No, I’m starting to get the hang of it,” he said. “What's your story?”

“ZEUS killed _everyone_ ,” Dr. Lou said, hollowly. “We were holed up in the deepest part of the lab - waiting for reinforcements. D-codes at the door. Suddenly they all start screaming - lasted ten, twenty minutes, and it all goes quiet. Then we get a call from what we think are reinforcements - big mistake. We open the door and that _thing_ was standing there, waiting.” He shuddered, gripping himself so hard his knuckles turned white.

“It - it _absorbed_ Charles, at the door. And then it went after Arnie - my boss. It slaughtered everyone who tried to run, and when I was the only one left, it grabbed me. It was - it only lasted five minutes. Five minutes and two dozen men were dead. Unarmed, defenseless, begging for mercy - ZEUS doesn't care. It doesn't even have the _capacity_.”

Steve stole a glance at Dana. For once, she didn't have any rebuttal, looking down while biting her lip, grimacing like she was guilty of her brother's crimes. The story had chilled him, too, set his nerves on edge. He had seen footage of Alex in action, could very well imagine the sight of the slaughter. In the relative peace that they'd been holding up in the Tower, it had been easy to forget that Alex was the same as the monster tearing through the streets. This was a much-needed reminder.

Tony, too, was silent, considering the scientist's words from behind a furrowed brow. Eventually, he was the one that broke the silence.

“But was ZEUS telling the truth?” He asked, finally. The question surprised everyone in the room. Tony glanced around, making sure he had everyone's attention, before continuing.

“I'll be real with you for a moment. That's all stuff I’ve been saying since _day one_. But if there's one thing I wasn't expecting, it's that our strain of the virus is an _idiot_. He's still wearing the I <3 NY shirt. I can’t see him playing a long con, which means I think he isn't lying. So, doc: did Blackwatch make a Runner?”

Dr. Lou stared at him in disbelief. “You have ZEUS walking freely around your tower, and you're asking me to _corroborate its story?”_

“It’s a yes-or-no question, doc,” Tony said, easily. “Now, we didn't even know the D-codes existed until our virus buddy told us about them, and you just confirmed that, one, that's what you call them, and two, they were scratching at your laboratory doors. What were you hiding in there? Was it unmapped vials of DX-1120?”

Dr. Lou gaped, slack-jawed. “You can't seriously - I can't - if I answer you, I’ll be _shot_.”

“You said he killed everyone, right? Why not also Dr. Lou? Seems he's the type to not always leave corpses. And Stark Industries is always hiring - especially experts on the virus.”

It took the doctor some time to process this, glancing nervously around the room. His thoughts were obvious - he was considering his options. Eventually, he seemed to decide to take his chances with Tony, sinking further into his own misery.

“...It...it was an accident,” he muttered. “We wanted to see what would happen if we mapped the virus to its new host prior to infection - if it would make the transition more efficient. It looked like it was working, at first. The cell-by-cell rebuilding of the body was happening at record speed. But then it didn't _stop_. It encroached on our subject's brain. He broke his bonds, went berserk. Next thing we knew, so did all the D-codes in the field.”

Tony hummed, thoughtful. “And the vials of DX-1120 inside your lab. What happened to them?”

“I...I don't…” Dr. Lou went quiet. “...Smashed. ZEUS smashed all of them and absorbed the contents. He left the base a flaming wreck. Years of work…”

Tony's eyes met Steve's, both of them thinking the same thing: that whatever Alex’s methods had been, he may have made the right call - maybe the ends didn’t justify the brutal means, but he had earnestly been trying to solve the problem. It was still an issue that he had run off on his own...but it was equally true that he had gotten them the intel that they had sorely needed.

“Steve, could you set this guy up with a spare room on 34F? We'll figure out what to do with him in the morning.”

Steve nodded. “What's your plan, Tony?”

“I think I'll go have a chat with Alex.”

“I’ll go with you,” Dana said, immediately up on her feet.

But Tony shot her down immediately. “Sorry, no can do. I don’t want you giving him stage directions from behind the scenes; I want to hear what he has to say. Unfiltered and uncut.”

She bit her lip, like she wanted to protest, but there weren't grounds to argue here. In the end, she was just a civilian. A normal human girl. This was all above her head.

“...Fine. But we _do_ have a deal.”

“For better or worse, I'm a man of my word,” Tony said. He turned to leave, disappearing behind the door, and Steve set to work, helping Dr. Lou to his feet.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” Steve asked.

“Bruised,” Dr. Lou answered. His tone became urgent. “You - you can't let that _thing_ anywhere near me, okay? I - I'd rather be shot than - than what _it_ does to its victims. Don't let it anywhere near me.”

“Okay,” Steve assured him. “Okay.”

But somehow, having known Alex, Steve felt like there wasn't actually much he needed to do.

Yes, Alex had always been frigid and unfriendly, but in the way he acted towards Dana there was genuine warmth - protectiveness, consideration. Even in the way he let Bruce corral him. Steve trusted Bruce not to be easily taken in, so while Alex had been nothing but cold towards Steve, he had good people vouching for him.

“Don't be fooled by it,” Dr. Lou kept telling him. “ZEUS is a monster. ZEUS is a mimic. Maybe ZEUS even believes itself to have human emotions - but don’t fall for it. Your funeral.”

And maybe that was true, but - what was the difference between believing yourself to have real feelings, and having real feelings?

Maybe there wasn't one, Steve couldn't help but think. Maybe that was already enough.

 

* * *

 

The first thing to assail Tony's senses when he opened the door to Bruce's apartment was the smell of chicken noodle soup, because _of course_ the virus had taken his snide comment as a legitimate order. The second was the mess. Piles of unwashed dishes were lumped in the sink, and bags of trash that hadn't been walked to the garbage chute were tucked into the corners of the room. Papers littered the dining room table, some fallen on the ground and never picked up. No wonder Bruce had caught the cold. This place was an embarrassment to how much it would cost for someone to live here.

Tony picked his way across empty cans and cartons and discarded clothes toward the kitchen, where Alex was busily chopping vegetables to throw into the pot.

“Tony,” he said, by way of greeting, the moment Tony stepped into the kitchen. He didn’t even turn around, absorbed in his work, his movements practiced and fluid. Tony had seen many a professional handle a knife before, and Alex did not pale before any one of them.

Tony finally got to see with his own eyes evidence of Alex's ability to absorb skills and experience.

“Measles,” Tony greeted back. “Sounds like you had a busy day today.”

“Tomorrow's going to be busier,” he replied, without pausing his work.

“How so?”

“Because you’re going to want me in the field.” This statement was made matter-of-factly, as if there was no doubt in his mind. 

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Now why would I do that?”

“Because I fight D-codes and win,” Alex said, with all the certainty in the world. “And because you don’t know how to find the Runner.”

His jab at their competence was a slight annoyance, but the truth was that they had very little way of finding this runner. The Red Zone was vast, and even if this new one wasn't as variable and tricksy as Alex was, it was still like trying to find a tumor in a sea of flesh. Without a medical degree.

“And you do?”

Alex paused, like he wasn't expecting an actual dialogue. “...Yeah.”

Tony nodded, then took a deep breath in.

“You know,” he said, “you’ve got this bad habit of not explaining yourself. If we let you into the field, you won't be a solo act, mumps-a-lot. You'd be working with the _team_. Which means you need to explain. From the top, every last detail.”

Alex’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment Tony wondered what exactly that meant. Was the big virus angry? Annoyed? He didn't know what to expect when Alex started to answer, but to his surprise, the virus decided to comply with his request.

“Runners are controlled by the virus." He explained simply, in short, choppy fragments. "But they're limited by how smart the host was - have to work with the brain they've got. Greene was a college student, so she made a lot of mistakes. But the new one is a soldier. Tactician. He's smarter than Greene was. I thought I could track him by his own hivemind - didn't work. He cuts me out every time I try to tap in. But he's not the only strain running in the streets.”

The implication there being that Alex could harness the other Infected that comprised most of the afflicted zombies.

“So you're gonna go hive queen to track him down,” Tony said.

“Basically.”

He answered so readily that it was almost funny.

“You don't think we’d have a problem with you doing that?”

“You'd have a problem whatever I do,” Alex retorted.

Tony shrugged.

“Fair,” he said. “So sell me on the idea, then. I’m in a generous mood.”

Another small pause, because clearly Alex wasn't expecting him to be _open_ to the idea. Was his opinion of Tony really that low? Sheesh. The truth was, it _wasn't_ a bad idea to have Alex on their side, assuming Alex really was as docile as Bruce thought he was. That was a thought that was always at the back of Tony's mind, even if he knew well enough that not having any countermeasures for him made him useless as a potential asset. But in the specific case of the Infection, Alex had demonstrated his stance before - that he wanted to keep the population restricted to an ever-shrinking patch of red tape. And, as...off-putting a gesture as it had been, he had tried to show his sincerity by gifting them with intel that would probably take weeks to pry out of Blackwatch's hands. Tony was pragmatic enough to recognize that. So he listened silently as Alex gave his explanation, trying to gauge the virus's own level of pragmatism.

“It’s faster and safer than tightening the net," Alex said. "The Infected are the walking dead, which means they're expendable. I can find your Runner, and I can take him out.”

Tony nodded, but - “that's not _really_ the part I'm worried about."

He drew closer. With this proximity to the stove, the smell of the soup was hitting him full-force, and his mouth began to water. No, focus, Tony. You came here for a reason.

“Lemme tell you a story,” he said, eyeing the broth. “Do you know about the cane toad?”

“ _Rhinella marina_?”

“Uh, probably, yeah.”

“I know about it.”

“Well, then you might already know this story, but humor me. Down in Australia, cane sugar farmers were having a problem - cane beetles kept destroying the crops. In the 1900s they brought over 102 - just 102 - cane toads to deal with the bugs. And now cane toads are one of the most invasive species on the planet.”

Alex's usual scowl deepened.

“...You're worried I'm the cane toad?”

Casually, Tony grabbed a ladle from the counter and stirred the pot, noting the beautiful sheen of oil on the top of the soup. This quality...he'd have expected it at one of his favorite three-star restaurants. Incredible.

“This Runner," he said, distractedly, "according to you, is so _bad_ at being infectious that he needs to steal his own strain from the scientists that made him. And the D-codes are tough, but they're no match for ZEUS. Buddy, saying you're like a cane toad would be selling you short.”

Alex looked away, lips pressed into a thin line.

“Why'd you have to kill all the scientist's friends, huh?" This was what bothered him the most. He had no qualms with Alex "gifting" them Dr. Lou, but the massacre the doctor had described seemed supremely excessive. 

“Blackwatch doesn't know when to quit,” Alex answered, expression grim. “Leave someone alive who can continue the research, and they will. Smarter to just burn it all to the ground.”

“Doesn’t sound like that to me. Sounds like you've got a _personal_ vendetta.”

“Maybe,” he conceded. “But I was made by Blackwatch, too. They don't have a great track record.”

“Maybe,” Tony echoed. He took a sip of the broth.

“...Oh my god. This is the best chicken noodle I've ever had.”

“Do you want a bowl?”

“I would not say no to a bowl.”

“I'll get you one when it's finished.” He took the ladle back and began to stir. After a long silence, he continued.

“I don't know what to tell you. The D-codes aren’t something Blackwatch is willing to give up just because one of them went berserk. The whole point of experimentation with the Redlight virus is weaponization. It always has been. They'll only give it up if it's razed to the ground. And Runners can mutate the virus in their own bodies - maybe he's not infectious _now_ , but it's only a matter of time. If a contagious Runner breaks the quarantine line, I don't have to tell you what's going to happen.”

“You're more levelheaded about this than I thought you'd be,” Tony admitted. “Was half-hoping you'd tell me you slaughtered a room of unarmed scientists because it was fun.”

“Do you know Blackwatch's creed?”

“Can't say I do."

Alex closed his eyes.

“‘We will burn our own to hold the red line. It is the last line to ever hold.’" He looked at Tony. "They'll do whatever they think it takes to fight the virus, consequences and collateral be damned. And most of the time, they're not wrong. Do you think shooting down a civilian craft is reasonable if there's a reasonable chance someone on board is infected?”

What was this, a community college ethics course?

“...Maybe.”

“I watched them make that call - a dozen times. Every time, they chose to shoot." Alex said this without any judgement - in fact, he almost seemed to find it darkly amusing.  _Every_ time. "How many civilians did Blackwatch kill? And - how many of those were justified, if even one Infected had slipped the quarantine?”

Tony cocked his head.

“So now you're on Blackwatch's side?”

The answer was immediate. “No. But I think you might be thinking you can use this as leverage to shut them down for good.”

Alex stared up at him, blue eyes unreadable. “Unless you want to be the one shooting civilians on the off-chance that they _might_ be sick, you want Blackwatch around. And as long as Blackwatch sticks around, you have to torch their bad decisions. And if you aren't willing to do that - to walk into a room of unarmed scientists and slaughter them all - I am.”

Tony looked down.

“This is such a bad conversation to have while cooking chicken noodle. I can't take it seriously.”

“I can wait until later.”

“No, no. I think I've heard enough.”

Maybe not everyone in the Avengers would agree with Alex's decision - hell, it didn't even really sit right with Tony - but he could see where Alex was coming from. As cold and inhumane as his choices were, they were informed. By experience, by logical deduction, and framed by a worldview of ends justifying any means. In other words, it was a grey area. And Tony could work with that.

“I just have one last question,” Tony said, crossing his arms.

“Shoot.”

“This new Runner...what if he's like you?” Tony tilted his head. “What if he's totally sentient and rational, and it turns out he doesn't want to spread the virus after all? What if he also wants to protect innocent lives?”

“He isn't,” Alex said.

“Irrelevant. I'm only asking hypotheticals. What if he _is_ _?_ Would you still kill him?”

“Yes.” The answer was immediate, unflinching.

Tony huffed. “Bit of a double standard there, don't you think?”

“No,” Alex said. “It isn't.”

In the heavy silence that followed, the soup finished simmering, and Alex shut off the heat. From the cupboard, he pulled out two ceramic bowls. He filled one and handed it to Tony, fishing out a spoon from the drawer, and the other he took with him into Bruce's room, letting himself in without knocking. Tony followed him as far as the door frame, watching him rouse Bruce from his drug-induced slumber.

“Bruce, get up,” he said, without any delicacy at all.

Bruce groaned and rubbed his eyes, feebly pulling himself up into sitting position. “Something smells good.”

“I made soup,” Alex said. “You need to stay hydrated.”

“Soup?” Bruce asked. “What kind?”

“Chicken noodle.”

“Wow. I guess I really am sick.”

“Yes. You need to wash your hands more often.”

“I don't want to hear that from you,” Bruce said, swatting at him. Alex didn't even blink as the hand whiffed past his face, eventually settling on his head.

“Oh, hair,” Bruce said, happily. “You've got hair.”

“When I want to. Drink the soup.”

“Alright, alright.” Bruce accepted the bowl that was offered to him. He drank slowly, enjoying the taste.

“Hey, Alex?”

“Yeah.”

“You should have hair more often.”

“Alright.”

“And footsteps,” Bruce added, sleepily. “You keep sneaking up on me. And say ‘please’ and ‘thank you,’ okay?”

“I’m not a kid.”

“...Hey,” Bruce said. “Hey, you know what you remind me of? The Iron Giant. Have you seen that movie?”

“Sort of.”

“Tony, he's sort of like the Iron Giant, right?”

“Sort of,” Tony echoed. He wondered if maybe they needed to find him some weaker cold medication. Or some stronger cold medication.

“We should watch that movie together sometime.”

“Drink your soup,” Alex said.

“Okay, okay,” Bruce said.

After much coaxing from Alex and several more nonsensical, drugged tangents, Bruce had finally finished his meal and been put to sleep. In the intervening time, Tony had helped himself to seconds (Steve wasn't fucking kidding when he'd said Alex was a good cook), and was working on a way to ask for the leftovers without sounding like he was desperate.

Ultimately, he couldn’t think of a way to steal soup from a sick man, and so for a long while he was quietly watching Alex put spices and dishes away, not bothering to wash them, instead disinfecting them by scrubbing them clean with biomass.

“So, hepatitis,” Tony said, clearing his throat. “That hive queen thing you can do...what're the odds you go berserk like a normal Runner?”

“None,” Alex answered, simply. “In my case the virus is already in control. It's just...a bad trip. So don't bother me while I'm in there. I might bite.”

“Alright,” Tony nodded. “You're not lying to me, are you?”

“No."

“Then, how early do you think you can start?”

Alex considered the question.

“Right now,” he said, “if you're fine with me leaving without an escort.”

 

* * *

 

Peter had arrived at Stark Tower slightly dreading the day's assignment. Yesterday had been hell. The D-codes weren't terribly strong - at least, not for him and Steve, who were both several times stronger than the average human - but they just wouldn't stay down. And they attacked in formation, even at one point attempting a crude pincer attack, which had only fallen through thanks to the spidey senses alerting him of the small regimen that was planning to ambush from behind. The whole thing had been both physically and mentally exhausting.

But to his surprise, he'd been taken off the mission altogether.

“Why?” He’d asked, worried that he hadn't done well enough, that he hadn't proven himself.

“We got some new intel,” Mr. Stark answered. “Says the only way to keep a D-Code down is to disembowel it or melt it alive. Look, kid...do I think you're ready to learn how to do that? Sure. But I don't think it'll win me any boss-of-the-year awards if it gets out I taught a minor how to butcher his fellow man.”

And...yeah, that had been fair. Totally fair. It still vaguely stung that he'd been kicked off the mission, but Peter himself, being not-a-psychopath and all, couldn't say he was particularly sad to be missing this opportunity.

So instead he'd headed to the lab, figuring the best way to soothe the feeling would be to bury himself in work, even if it meant dealing with Mr. Mercer. But he was in for another surprise there, since Mr. Mercer was nowhere to be found, and instead all there was was Dr. Banner slumped over a desk, snoring away.

Peter frowned. His spidey sense was dead, which meant Mr. Mercer was _definitely_ not around, but he'd never seen Dr. Banner at the lab without him. He dropped his backpack near the entrance and walked over to shake Dr. Banner awake, noticing with some vague alarm that Dr. Banner was practically burning up, feverishly warm.

“Mm?” He asked, blearily. He squinted in the light, weakly wiping the drool from his mouth.

“Dr. Banner? Are you okay? Where's Mr. Mercer?”

“Where's,” Dr. Banner mumbled. He turned to Peter and broke out in a big, dumb grin. “Oh, hi, Peter. Alex is, uh, lessee...he's not at the lab?”

“No, he's not.”

“Huh...what am I doing at the lab, then?”

Dr. Banner squinted, thinking hard. Peter hadn't ever seen him like this before: eyes unfocused, words slurred, movements dull and slowed down. He was growing increasingly concerned, Mr. Mercer's absence weighing on him nearly as much as his presence.

“Oh,” Bruce said, suddenly. “If he's not here, he's probably in the Red Zone.”

Peter froze.

“...The Red Zone?”

“Mhm,” Bruce said, nodding. “He loves going there. Likes to hunt. I guess a growing boy needs his nutrients, huh, Peter?”

He grinned like he had told a hilarious joke, but it only had the effect of chilling Peter to the bone.

He...he had to know the truth. He had a feeling he'd regret asking, but he had to know.

“Dr. Banner...is Mr. Mercer human?”

Dr. Banner blinked at him, before his grin somehow broke wider, and he began to laugh.

Now, several times, Peter had seen him barely contain laughter at what seemed to be Peter's expense, like after Peter had been manhandled, or Mr. Mercer had made a particularly baffling statement and Peter desperately searched for a sympathetic bewilderment in his other boss. But evidently, having his brain slurped out by whatever Mr. Mercer was had finally gotten rid of this inhibition; Dr. Banner laughed hard, and for a long time, his body shaking with mirth. Every second his laughter dragged on, Peter felt himself more and more utterly terrified. It was as good a confirmation as any that Mr. Mercer was definitely _not_ human, and that Peter had been a fool for thinking otherwise.

It was already too late for Dr. Banner. It was probably too late for Dana. And he would be next.

Eventually, Dr. Banner's laughter died down, and he wiped at the tears in his eyes. “Sorry, sorry,” he said, without sounding like he really meant it. “If you want to know, you should ask him yourself. Alex is a good kid.”

“What happened to you, Dr. Banner?” Peter asked, horrified.

“I got sick,” the doctor answered.

Peter took a step back, and then another. Sick...the Red Zone...everything was slowly coming together in his mind. Alex Mercer had majored in genetics with a focus on virology. As tough as the Hulk was, Bruce Banner was still human, wasn't he? Peter was immune because his cells were sufficiently spider-like that the virus didn't know what to do with him...but on their first day in the lab, Mercer had injected them with _something_.

The outbreak had changed him, Dana said. Changed him into _what?_

“Peter,” Dr. Banner said, “I'm _really_ tired.”

“Don't fall asleep,” Peter said, rushing back to his side. “Dr. Banner. Bruce. You have to stay awake. What-whatever happened to you, whatever he did to you, I'm going to fix it, okay? I'm going to fix it.”

“You're a good kid, too,” Bruce said, placing a hand on his head. “Say hi to Alex for me. Tell him I'm sorry...I ignored doctor's orders.”

“Yeah, I'll say hi to him, alright,” Peter said, ducking away. Bruce's arm fell limp to his side, the man dozing off once more.

Peter grabbed his backpack and sprinted out the door and down the hall.

 _Sorry, Mr. Stark_ , he thought. _Looks like I'm headed to the Red Zone after all_.

 

* * *

 

It didn't take him too long to find what he was looking for.

As he swung through the streets of the innermost regions of the Red Zone, he noticed that the Infected were behaving...oddly. They seemed like they were - _looking_ for something, spreading outwards from a central point; sometimes they would appear to notice him, start reaching their arms toward him, only for their attention to be forcibly yanked away. He had a hunch as to who - or _what_ \- was doing the yanking.

So Peter headed in the opposite direction that the Infected faced. There, perched atop a Hive, was the Monster of Manhattan.

Was Alex Mercer.

No sooner had Peter spotted him that it spotted Peter, its head snapping toward him just like Mr. Mercer had done at the zoo. It had been scary then; it was terrifying now, especially since the alien monster, wrapped in its black carapace, clawed hands motionless at its side, did nothing but stare as Peter approached. 

Remembering last time's fight, he decided that close-range was not an option. So, taking a page from the monster's book, Peter webbed a car from below, and sent it hurtling in the monster's direction.

It didn't flinch, even as the vehicle smashed against its body and the fuel tank exploded, and for a bated moment Peter thought that maybe he'd landed a solid hit, until his spidey senses screamed for him to move out of the way. Just in time, Peter managed to change his velocity, yanking hard on his webbing to swerve out of the way, as the monster came hurtling at him out of the smoke with claws slashing at empty air, poised to kill.

It landed with a boom on all fours on the side of a building, a crater spiderwebbing under its feet, and immediately it was airborne again, jumping up like a cannonball.

Getting hit by it, even once, would be very, very bad.

Once again, sharp claws raked across empty air, Peter diving out of harm's way. It seemed he was the more dexterous of the two. He could use that to his advantage. The monster wasn't able to dodge Peter's web shot midair, and, yanking _hard_ , he sent the monster crashing into the asphalt.

Obviously, this wasn't near enough to stop it. One of its arms morphed into a ghastly, enormous blade, which severed the webbing with one clean strike. Immediately it was jumping up after him again, this time opting to run along the walls of the buildings. With footholds in the metal and glass and brick and cement, it could dash from side to side, avoiding Peter's shots. It chased him with fervor, single-mindedly trying to hunt him down.

Something was _different_ this time. The cold, deliberate movements of the last match the two had fought had been replaced with a hot-tempered, almost kneejerk lust for blood. When the monster pounced, it pounced to kill, every swing of its blade aiming for one of Peter's vitals. It was more like fighting a smarter, deadlier Hunter than it was like fighting the alien he'd faced last time.

But perhaps most unnerving was its complete lack of human tells. Its greasy black eyes, insectoid, did not blink or emote; it had no mouth and made no sounds even as it just barely whiffed him, over and over. Whatever thought process was happening behind that smooth carapace was foreign and unknowable, focused on the single intent of making Peter dead.

This was one of the closest fights Peter had ever been in. A single mistake spelled impalement on one of the many spikes and blades being launched his way. Meanwhile, it was nearly impossible to gauge how much damage his own blows were doing when the monster with no face seemed only to shrug off blow after blow. Surely being launched through building walls had to hurt, right? But if it did, the monster didn't show it, launching itself out of the rubble over and over again.

They had only been fighting a few minutes, but it felt like it had been years, Peter's breath coming harsh and heavy. It was probably only natural that he'd end up fumbling.

His spidey sense warned him in time to twist out of the way of a piece of rubble launched at him through a thick cloud of smoke. But as he was maneuvering his way out of its trajectory, he realized his mistake: a second piece of rubble had been hiding behind the first, and he didn't have enough leeway to dodge this one, too. The monster had, over the course of their spar, figured out his instinctive avoidance of danger, and had gamed it.

“Shit.”

He did just barely manage to curl up and shield his vitals from the impact, but the crash still _hurt_ , concrete slamming against his body at a terrifying speed. If he were a normal human, he'd probably have died immediately - maybe a broken spine or a crushed ribcage - but ultimately, while the hit _hurt_ , it wasn't _lethal_. The problem was actually that the blow stunned him momentarily, as he went crashing to the ground, and immediately an enormous pressure was on him as the monster pinned him there with a carapiced foot.

 The monster reared, intending to drive the point of its bladed arm directly through his face. Every part of him was screaming danger, danger, danger, but there was nothing he could do about it anymore.

“Shit!” Peter exclaimed again. He squeezed his eyes shut as the blade came ramming down, counting up his regrets.

...And suddenly, all the warning bells ceased.

Peter peeked one eye open, and then the other. The blade had been stopped a mere inch from his nose, the monster frozen mid-strike.

A cracking noise accompanied the opening of the carapace along the monster’s throat, lengthwise, a makeshift mouth.

“...Peter?” It asked. Its voice was warbled and warped, but undeniably Mr. Mercer’s, and undeniably confused.

“Uh,” Peter said, heart still hammering in his ears.

“What the hell are you doing out here dressed like Spiderman?”

“I, I _am_ Spiderman,” Peter answered, dumbly, hysteria rising in his voice. “What are _you_ doing out here, trying to kill me?”

“ _You’re_ Spiderman?” Mr. Mercer asked, incredulous.

“Yeah!”

“Since when?”

Peter was honestly having trouble processing the situation. “Since, uh. Since Spiderman was a thing? I have always...been...Spiderman?”

Mr. Mercer paused for a long moment to digest this information, his blade still inches from Peter's throat, his makeshift mouth half-open, before stepping off and briskly pulling Peter to his feet.

“I'm catching the Runner for the Avengers,” Mr. Mercer said, voice still tinged with confusion. “I'm tapped into the hivemind right now. I warned Tony not to bother me while I'm in there. Did he not tell you?”

“There's a _Runner?”_ Peter asked. “Wait, better question. What the hell is a Runner? No, wait. You're tapped into what? ...No, no, wait. What the hell are _you?”_

Mr. Mercer tilted his head. “Did they not tell you?”

“No!” Peter yelled, frustrated. “Nobody told me anything! I have _no idea_ what's going on!”

“No one told me you were Spiderman either,” Mr. Mercer offered.

“That doesn't help!”

“Sorry.”

Peter sighed into his hands, still coming off his adrenaline high. Mr. Mercer, still guised in alien form, just stared at him out of those oily little eyes, body still and unmoving. He was even freakier up close, his proportions wrong and disconcerting, held far too still. He almost looked like CGI, except just moments ago he'd been aiming for Peter's throat.

“Okay, okay,” Peter said, shakily, after he’d recovered some. “You - you're not going to attack me again, are you?”

“Don't throw a car at me again,” Mr. Mercer responded. “The hive mind is...noisy. It’s hard to focus, think straight. I attacked on instinct. I didn't kill you the first time, remember? I wasn't tapped in then.”

“So that's really it, huh? You're just gonna admit you're some kind of freaky non-human just like that?”

“I didn't know it was a secret,” Mr. Mercer said. He sounded like he legitimately didn't know it was a secret.

Peter had to sit down.

He pulled off his mask so he could run a hand through his hair, rubbing his forehead and temples, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Dr. Banner told me he was sick. He was really out of it, loopy. I thought you'd sucked his brains out and eaten them.”

“I've considered it,” Mr. Mercer said. Peter stared, so he added - “but I didn't. Bruce is my friend. If he's out of it, it's probably the cold medication. He's got stomach flu because his hygiene sucks. Where did you see him? I told him to get bed rest.”

“Stomach flu,” Peter mumbled.

“Enteric adenovirus,” Mr. Mercer clarified.

Awkwardly, he came to stand closer to Peter, who chose to ignore the sensation of something dangerous and hungry breathing down his neck, since he figured now was as good a time as any to get used to it. Instead, he turned, and gave one of Mr. Mercer's legs a few raps with his knuckles, noting how dense and solid they sounded now that he had a chance to properly appreciate it.

“So, is this, like, your true form or whatever?”

Mr. Mercer's makeshift mouth opened to answer, then paused.

“...I don’t have a true form,” he ended up saying. “This is just armor. Alex Mercer is my default, but it might as well be anyone I've consumed.”

“There's a lot to unpack in that sentence, but I think I’m going into shock right now, so I'm just gonna leave it,” Peter said.

“Should I take you to a hospital?” Mr. Mercer asked.

“No, no, I'll be okay.”

“It'd be bad if you developed PTSD,” Mr. Mercer continued. “We’re coworkers.”

“I'm going to be okay,” Peter insisted.

“Are you sure you're going to be alright?”

“Yes!” Peter exploded. “Yes! I'm going to be alright; are _you_ going to be alright? Who's Alex Mercer, like, are you him mutated by the virus, are you _not_ him, what are you, what's going on?”

The alien virus monster tilted its head. Six emotionless eyes - more, actually, now that Peter could see them up close - stared down at him, pensive. The silence was beginning to scare him again, and he was about to speak, to fill it up, when finally the viral _whatever_ began to answer.

“Alex Mercer was the man who started this whole mess,” he said, in the same cold monotone he used for all his laboratory lectures. “But I inherited his mind, his memories, his name, his body...his family. That makes the Infection my responsibility.”

He looked out toward the ruined city. Even if he was wearing a human face, Peter felt like his expression would have been inscrutable.

“In the right body, with the right DNA, the virus gains sentience. Intelligence. The ground zombies, the Walkers, they're worker bees. The queens are called Runners. That's what I am. And that's what I'm hunting.”

“You said you're helping the Avengers. Is that why you're living at the tower?”

The virus let out an odd noise, and it took Peter a moment to realize it was a laugh - sharp, brisk, and ugly. He'd never heard Mr. Mercer express any sort of positive emotion before and...that hadn’t changed.

“They didn't invite me there to help.” Sardonicism dripped from every word. “They want me dead. The only thing stopping them is they don’t know how.”

Peter gaped. “Why...do they want you dead?”

Mr. Mercer just made a sweeping motion with one arm, the gesture encompassing the blasted-out buildings and smoking rubble that stretched out for miles and miles.

“That’s why,” was all he said.

And really, it was all Peter needed to hear.

In one fell swoop he'd had his worst suspicions confirmed: the-thing-that-replaced-Alex-Mercer was every inch the terrifying, world-ending monstrosity Peter had feared he'd turn out to be.

But that also meant that he was the same person who had caught a seagull at lunch because there were no rules about it. The same person Bruce treated like a child, sometimes. And the same person that had trusted Peter with the golden-gate cloning method all those months ago.

It felt like those ought to be irreconcilable with the monster that had nearly driven a blade through his face, and yet...somehow, knowing that Mr. Mercer's oddness was due to legitimately being _bad_ at acting human set him at ease. Or maybe he could actually be going into shock. Either/or.

Mr. Mercer's rigid body suddenly froze, something piquing its interest behind the carapace, and he lowered his body close to the ground.

“Found you,” he said, in a voice that definitely also meant “get ready to die.”

But it was at that moment that Peter's spidey sense began to tingle for an entirely different reason, hastily pulling his mask back on as he scrambled to his feet, backing up towards where Mr. Mercer stood, facing behind them.

A piece of rubble came flying up at them to announce the D-Code's arrival, and the slam of it against the ground as Peter caught it with webbing alerted Mr. Mercer to the swarm. First one popped up over the edge of the building, and then another and another, until it was evident that they had surrounded the whole thing and were climbing up every side.

“We're running, Peter,” Mr. Mercer said.

“Yeah, okay, just let me - whoa!”

Like he weighed nothing at all, Mr. Mercer had grabbed him around the waist and had slung him under one arm. Before Peter could get his bearings, with a sickening lurch, they were suddenly airborne, leaping at least five stories straight upward. At the top of their arc, they lurched again - forward, this time, propelled by unknown means - and then again, slamming into the side of another building. Almost immediately, Mr. Mercer was off running, and behind them Peter could hear the D-codes also crashing into the wall, in hot pursuit.

They followed them from building to building. Mr. Mercer wasn't really _that_ fast - certainly faster than he had any right to go, but Peter felt he could get through the city faster on his better days - but he was _extremely_ abrupt. There wasn't a rhythm or flow to his movements _at all_ , and he blasted through obstacles without even trying to avoid them - running up a fire escape at one point by literally running through it, metal crumpling and falling from the wall in the face of his momentum. His jumps were untelegraphed and his mid-air direction changes immediate and unpredictable - and it was giving Peter a bad case of whiplash.

“I'm gonna yutz,” he said, voice lost to the wind.

“They're not bad,” Mr. Mercer said, in a tone of agreement. “Let's see if they can keep up with this.”

And suddenly he was tentacles. For about two awful seconds, he was just a mass of writhing flesh, which solidified into a human torso, hand, and arm around him.

And then his movements got faster.

Before the whole Spiderman thing had happened, he and Ned had found Youtube videos of parkour experts doing crazy stunts over city rooftops. They were shot in first-person, using GoPros held in the free runners’ mouths. This was like that but ten times worse.

Up and down and side to side, they weaved through the streets like a rollercoaster gone rogue. Every now and again, Mr. Mercer would spin around, his free arm transformed into a long, extendable blade-tipped whip, which always, always hit its mark and sent its victim crashing to the ground below. Bit by bit they were gaining ground, and bit by bit Peter was fighting back his nausea, trying in vain to enjoy the ride.

“Do you have a plan or are we just trying to lose them?” He asked, yelling over the wind.

“I want to lose them so we can sneak up on the Runner,” Mr. Mercer grunted back.”I don't think he knows I found him. I don't want him to move now that I have.”

“Got it,” Peter said. Aiming as best he could while on Mr. Mercer's Wild Ride, he shot a web at the diminishing crowd behind them. It hit a D-code on the shoulder, staggering him enough to fall off the building, and Mr. Mercer cast it an appreciative eye over his shoulder.

“Can you do that again?”

“It's hard to aim like this.”

“Understood.”

Peter yelped as he was abruptly readjusted, this time slung over Mr. Mercer's shoulder, facing behind them.

“Better?” He asked.

There were a lot of retorts Peter wanted to make, like that the main problem was all the sudden changes of direction or that Mr. Mercer needed to give some warning before handling him like a ragdoll, but he _was_ offered a much better view, and the virus's erratic gait seemed to have stabilized out of consideration for their gunner, so…

“Better,” Peter said, two blasts finding their marks.

They kept running; he kept shooting. One by one the D-Codes fell, stuck to walls and tangled in the streets.

“That stuff is tough,” Mr. Mercer commented, as the last two went down and were left struggling on the ground. “I don't even know if I'd be able to brute-force my way out.”

“Yeah, because that spikey-knifey thing you can do makes it totally moot,” Peter said. “It's cheating, is what it is.”

“I guess so,” Mr. Mercer said, casually bounding out of sight of the supersoldiers. “You have enough left in you to go up against the Runner?”

“Isn't the Runner the hive queen? Doesn't that mean he's like, way tougher than all those other guys?”

“Yeah?” Mr. Mercer didn't seem to understand why this was a problem.

“Well, I mean, I heard the only way to take them down was, like, to _disembowel_ them.”

“You can leave that part to me,” Mr. Mercer said. “The hard part is getting them to stop moving.”

Oh, so he was _serious_ about getting Peter to help. “Are you sure you're fine with me being there for that?”

“Yeah.”

“I, uh. I should probably make a call, first, or something…”

“...Oh, yeah. Almost forgot,” Mr. Mercer said. He rummaged around in what looked from Peter's vantage point like the inside of his jacket, pulling out a black radio communicator.

“This is ZEUS. Steve, do you copy?”

“Uh, Alex, I appreciate the military lingo, but - nevermind. What's the update?”

“Runner located; en route. Should be showing results by fourteen-hundred hours.”

“Right. Do you need any backup?”

“Already got some. Peter wants to talk to you.”

The communicator was passed to him.

“Uh, hi, Mr. Rogers,” Peter said, regretting several of his life decisions today.

“Peter?” He sounded worried. “What are you _doing_ out there?”

“Um...long story,” he said. “Hey, did you also know about Mr. Mercer’s whole ‘virus’ thing? Like was I the only one that didn't get the memo?”

“Where are yo - tell Alex to bring you back to base camp. The Runner's too dangerous for us to send you in.”

That stung. “I'm a part of the team, aren't I?”

“Peter, can we please talk about this - “

“Hey, Mr. Mercer. Do you think I'll make it against the Runner?”

“If you dodged me for that long...you'll probably be fine,” Mr. Mercer answered. On the other side of the radio, Steve hefted a sigh.

“Peter, I don't think it's a good idea.”

“I'll run if there's any trouble,” Peter said.

“Peter - “

“I play mature video games and watch R-rated movies, alright? I know you guys are trying to protect my innocence or whatever, but if I can handle it, I want to be able to go handle it. Like - Mr. Mercer's on the team, but not me? No offense, Mr. Mercer.”

“None taken.”

There was a long pause from the other end of the line, and, finally, “put Alex back on the line, please.”

Peter handed the radio back.

“This is ZEUS,” Mr. Mercer grunted. Did he make up that codename for himself? Peter had a lot of questions he couldn't ask right now.

“Alex, listen, alright?” Steve asked. “This is really, really important. If you let _anything_ happen to Peter, I - I - just make sure nothing happens to Peter. Your top priority is making sure he gets out of their safe. The Runner can wait for another day, but we lose Peter, and there's no more Peter. Do you understand?”

“Roger,” Mr. Mercer said. “He'll be fine as long as he stays out of my way. Approaching target. Will radio back with one alive Peter and one dead Runner. Out.”

“As long as I stay out of your way?” Peter asked, as Mr. Mercer returned the radio to god-knows-where.

“You're more likely to get caught in my collateral than in the Runner's.” Mr. Mercer said. “I’m not good at...killing discriminately.”

“Right,” Peter said, nodding enthusiastically. “Got it.”

Both of their heads swiveled toward a building on their right at the same time.

“Get ready,” Mr. Mercer said. “Here they come.”

 

* * *

 

Runner.

Peter didn't know what he was expecting when he heard that word, but what came bursting out of the cement was decidedly not it. 

It was a normal-looking man in his early thirties - fit, soldier's build. White, brown hair, hazel eyes. He wore the tattered, bloodsoaked remains of a hospital gown and an easy smile on his face. 

He had also collapsed the upper floor of the building they'd been standing on with one punch.

Mr. Mercer landed easily on the next building over, roughly depositing Peter on his feet. His body bulked up into its armored form, one arm morphing into a blade, but Peter's spider sense didn't pick up any ill intent from the other Runner, and neither did Mr. Mercer make the first move.

The Runner leapt up to one of the still-standing support beams of the building he'd half-demolished, and he and Mr. Mercer stared each other down, before the Runner broke into a wide grin and opened his arms.

“Brother,” he said, in an odd inflection - like he'd never spoken real words before, and was testing the way the syllables rolled off his tongue. “We've been wanting to speak with you.”

Mr. Mercer didn’t reply, but he did lower his blade just a fraction, allowing the Runner his chance to talk. Peter shifted nervously on his feet - at the speed the Runner had attacked at, he wasn’t in real danger of getting hit, but, like with Mr. Mercer, a single hit would mean major injury. If it leapt at them, he wanted to be ready to leap away.

The Runner continued. “You see our strength,” he said, gesturing toward the building's remains. “And we have proven to you our numbers. Are we not wonderful weapons for you to use?”

“Wait, hold up,” Peter said. “You guys just tried to kill us and now you're trying to get Mr. Mercer on your side?”

The Runner ignored him. Mr. Mercer also ignored him.

“...Uh, hello? What am I, invisible?”

A cracking noise, and once more the makeshift mouth on Mr. Mercer's throat opened to speak.

“This offer is his last resort.”

And with that, Peter remembered that, for once, they were not the underdogs. Mr. Mercer had torn through a D-Code with ease, and he'd had no doubts in his mind that he would win this fight. To him, it was a foregone conclusion.

The smiling man standing across from them was...begging for his life.

“Are you really planning to...kill him?” Peter asked, suddenly having second thoughts. Part of it was he was expecting another inhuman monster, not a normal-looking man; part of it was just that it made him uncomfortable to think they'd be brutalizing something that was obviously sentient enough to struggle for its life. “I mean, if we can reason with him - “

“If you're not going to fight,” Mr. Mercer said, “go home.”

He leapt at the Runner, and the Runner jumped up to meet him, smiling expression stuck on his face. Peter hesitated. Was this...okay? Were they in the right? Nervously, he followed the action from a distance, as the two of them grappled mid-air.

They slammed back down into the rubble, jumping out of the smoke to circle each other once more. Mr. Mercer, predatory and hungry; the Runner, twitchy and on the defensive. The few minor cuts Mr. Mercer had left - the Runner's skin was hardened, like armor - healed almost immediately.

“Why do you fight us?” the Runner hissed, his expression changing - twisting, into an unrecognizable emotion. “Why do you _hurt_ us?”

Mr. Mercer didn't answer. He just threw himself at the Runner's throat. To the Runner's credit, he dodged very well, but if Mr. Mercer was only capable of landing minor cuts, then evidently the Runner had little ability to injure Mr. Mercer at all. His blows, when they hit, succeeded in staggering him, but they were always returned with a vengeance, even if the wounds sealed over on their own within seconds.

Mr. Mercer's fighting style was absolutely brutal. He just - never relented, never let up. Every strike had been honed to a cruel level of deadliness, only missing their mark because the Runner was capable of matching him in speed and reflexes. The runner's soldier body had been so trained in combat that he flowed easily from stance to stance, like an old master. In contrast, Mr. Mercer was a roiling ball of hate, his movements sharp and jerky. Even his feints were deadly, spikes and claws and blade extending mid-swing. Peter supposed that didn’t exactly make them feints anymore.

“Why?” The Runner asked him, growing frustrated and angry. “You can do so much. Be so much more than us. You could change the whole world into our family. Don’t you want that?”

“Peter,” Mr. Mercer said, ignoring the Runner's speech. “Are you going to help or are you going to just sit there and watch?”

“I - yeah.” He shifted his weight. It just...didn't sit right with him, watching a big, black, armored monster completely brutalizing a half-naked man in a hospital gown, and being on the monster's side.

Still, Captain America had been on board with this plan. That meant it was...okay, right? So he began to leap and swing around the edge of the battle, looking for an opening.

The Runner had realized, by this point, that no matter how he might plead, his “brother” only wanted him dead. Panicking, he was now on the clear defensive, looking for an opportunity to escape.

Even so, each of them were like wrecking balls, tearing their way through Manhattan city blocks. Mr. Mercer refused to budge a single inch to the north or west, slowly trapping the Runner in the southeast corner of the island.

This might be what a fight between Mr. Mercer and Captain America might look like.

Both of them fought within melee range, trading blows at an inhuman speed, the Runner's punches and kicks connecting with booms that cracked the concrete under Mr. Mercer's feet as he braced against the impact. Meanwhile, Mr. Mercer's claws whistled through the air, and whenever they did manage to connect, they ripped flesh apart like paper, left gouges in the walls and floors. It wasn't long before the Runner's body was covered in blood, though he seemed entirely unaffected.

However, it was clear he was losing ground. His cuts were taking longer and longer to heal, his attacks becoming sluggish and slow. Their fight took them to the bottom floor of a building stripped of its walls, all metal support beams and blasted-out floors. The Runner ducked and weaved around them, while Mr. Mercer barrelled through, his claws and blade leaving destruction in his immediate radius, and Peter was now quite grateful for the advice to stay out of his way.

But suddenly, the Runner spun around, bare feet propelling it toward Mr. Mercer's charging frame, and, with all of his strength, grabbed onto Mr. Mercer's body and spun him around. The spikes that had pierced through the Runner's hands on contact with Mr. Mercer's armor tore through his flesh with a spray of blood, but Mr. Mercer still went hurtling into a concrete and steel pillar, bending it halfway at a nasty, 45 degree angle.

The Runner leapt out from under the building, and Mr. Mercer moved to follow him, only for the creaking of the burned-out apartment complex to catch his attention.

The support pillar gave one last whine, and gave out. With it went toppling thousands and thousands of pounds of concrete, glass, and steel, burying Mr. Mercer under the rubble.

But the good news was, the Runner was holding still.

Blindsiding it entirely, Peter's webbing - several layers of it, having seen the Runner's strength - pinned him against the asphalt. As soon as he'd confirmed the Runner was trapped, Peter approached the rubble, intent on digging Mr. Mercer out himself if he needed to.

The Runner did not ignore him, this time.

“Wait, wait,” it said, in a completely human, _desperate_ tone. Peter whipped stare at it in alarm and it continued, looking relieved that it had gotten his attention.

“Please, you have to help me," he begged. "The virus, it's - it's taken over my mind, but I'm still _in here_. My name is - my name is Bryant, Bryant Polinsky, colonel. I...I don't want to die.”

Peter was left dumbfounded, glancing nervously between the Runner and the rubble, where he could hear the scraping sounds of Mr. Mercer clawing his way out.

“You,” Peter breathed, “you're still in there?”

“Yes,” Bryant said, desperately. “Yes, god, yes. I - I have a kid. Jason. He lives down in Huntington, West Virginia, with his mom. He's turning twelve next month. I - you have to help. You have to help me find a cure. I'm still in here.”

With one final crash, a huge chunk of concrete went rolling down the pile, Mr. Mercer pulling himself out, looking no worse for the wear. His arms transformed back into claws and blade almost immediately, and Bryant squeezed his eyes shut.

“Please,” he breathed. “Oh, god. Please.”

“Mr. Mercer, wait,” Peter yelled. “I think he's - “

But Mr. Mercer leapt, without paying him any heed, fully intending to send his blade through Bryant's body at terminal velocity.

Panicked, Peter could only act on instinct, shooting another web at the virus. He yanked with all his strength, changing Mr. Mercer's trajectory, sending him crashing into the rubble once more.

But then, as Mr. Mercer was picking himself back up, the ground beneath them rumbled, and suddenly a dozen D-Codes had burst through the street, pulling Bryant with them while three stayed behind to slow Mr. Mercer down. By the time the virus monster had dealt with them, the Runner was long gone.

Standing among the collapsed bodies of the D-Codes, the last of their mass being funneled into his body, Mr. Mercer's armor melted, and he turned toward Peter and snapped.

“What the hell was that?” he snarled. But the fact that Peter's spidey-sense wasn't particularly spiking alerted him to the fact that it was a genuine question.

“The Runner, he - the human guy, he's still in there. He told me his name was - “

“You got played,” Mr. Mercer growled, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Peter shook his head. “No, he gave me his name, the name of his kid, I mean - the human guy, he's definitely still _in there_.”

“I don't doubt it.” Mr. Mercer folded his arms. “But it doesn't matter anymore. The virus was in control the whole time.”

“I…”

“Let me show you a trick,” Mr. Mercer said.

His body rippled, shrinking, and reformed into the figure of a teenage girl. Maybe fifteen, sixteen years old, wearing a jacket from PINK and blue skinny jeans, completely out of place in the ruins of the Red Zone.

She looked around, confused, until her eyes met the remains of the D-Codes and she muffled a scream, tripping over a piece of concrete in her backwards scramble to get away.

“Oh my god,” she said, nearly hyperventilating. “Oh my god, oh my god. This can't be real, this can't be happening…”

Her eyes darted to Peter and lit up with recognition, and he took a step back, thoroughly creeped out.

“Spiderman - you're Spiderman, aren't you? You - can you tell me what's, what's happening? I, I, uh, I was on my way back from the movies with Mina - she's my best friend - I was walking home with her, and I heard screaming, and I - what happened? Why is - this isn't Midtown, isn't it? Why does it - oh my god. What happened to Mina?”

“Mr. Mercer?” Peter said, nervously. “I, I think I get the point…”

The girl's arms immediately dropped to her side, her worried expression turning into a stony, cold glare. She erupted into a writhing mass of flesh and re-solidified.

“Okay,” Peter breathed, shakily. “Hey, next time you decide to traumatize me, can you not?”

Mr. Mercer didn't answer, just crossed his arms and looked away.

“Bryant Polinski  _is_ probably still in there,” he said. "It just doesn't matter."

“That, uh, that girl you just were,” Peter said, before trailing off. He didn't know if he wanted to know the answer.

“Dead,” Mr. Mercer confirmed, anyway. “She and three thousand others, consumed by the virus. Now it gets to use them however it wants. That's how it is with Colonel Polinsky. You got played.”

Peter was quiet for a long while.

“...Sorry,” he finally managed.

He didn't know what to think, to be honest. The Runner had sounded so - human, desperate, _genuine_. But as Mr. Mercer proved, so could he. And if he was the virus, too, then didn't that mean he knew what he was talking about?

Mr. Mercer only glared at him, looking him up and down.

“...Don't be,” he finally said. “If people didn't fall for that trick, I'd have gotten in a lot of trouble lots of times.”

“He said we had to find a way to cure him.”

“Not possible,” Mr. Mercer said. “The way his body works now, if you take the virus out he'll be dead within the hour. It's already too late.”

“But wouldn't he be dying as himself?”

“Is that worth the risk?”

“I...I don't know. But I just think, as the heroes, there's got to be something more we can do…”

“Oh, right,” Mr. Mercer said, “you _are_ a hero, huh.”

Peter blinked. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“This isn't hero's work.”

He gestured toward the D-Code corpses with his head. “And I'm not a hero, either. One of these days, you'll probably get a mission to fight me. Kill me. And you'd be just as justified as killing Polinsky.”

He took a few steps toward Peter, lowering his head.

“I’m sorry for getting you caught up in this,” he said, his voice still gruff, but softened, as much as he could. “Let me escort you back to Steve."

This time, Peter didn't refuse.

“Okay,” he said, shakily. “But, uh, this time I can - you don't need to carry me. Please don't carry me. I don't know if I can handle doing that again, along with everything else.”

“Alright. Sorry.”

 

* * *

 

Tony Stark was waiting for him outside the decontamination room. He looked disheveled and kind of sweaty, and a lot of the tension bled out of his shoulders when he saw Peter was relatively unharmed, but he masked his relief with clippiness as he ushered Peter into his car.

“Had a nice field trip to the one place I told you not to go?” He asked, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Make some friends?”

“Sorry, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, hollowly, staring out the window. This behavior was evidently non-standard, so Tony dropped the sarcasm.

“...Are you alright, kid?”

“I...I don't know. I'm still kinda...processing it all.”

“Ah,” Mr. Stark said, awkwardly. “Look, uh...I'm starving, aren't you? Let's grab some Chipotle on our way back, huh?”

“I'm not really that hungry…”

“Oh, come on. I was a teenage boy once, I know that's a lie. I promise, the moment you walk in and smell the sofritas, you'll be ordering yourself double what I usually get.”

“Okay,” Peter said. “Thanks.”

They drove in silence for a little, which evidently drove Mr. Stark nuts, so it was only a couple minutes before he cleared his throat and started up again.

“Do I need to make Alex's life hell? Like, I work with the guy, he drives me nuts, I'm looking for a reason. Just give me an excuse, kid.”

“No, no, he didn't really...why didn't you tell me about him?”

Mr. Stark coughed, awkwardly. “We were going to. When you turned 18. Listen, uh, his crimes are pretty rated-R. But I guess it doesn't matter much now.”

“I thought he was an _alien_. I was scared out of my _mind_.”

“I mean, he kind of might as well be, right? With the way he acts. No, I mean, I'm really sorry, kid. Really. If I knew things would turn out this way I'd have said screw it and put you on the team from the start. I'm just...look, I just didn't want you to get hurt.”

“The first thing he did after meeting me was stab me.”

“I yelled at him for it,” Mr. Stark said. “If that helps. I guess not.”

Peter sat silent, staring at nothing.

“...I let the Runner get away,” he admitted, finally.

“Well, why'd you do that?” That was Mr. Stark's immediate response, and he seemed to realize how insensitive it was only after it left his mouth, adding in quickly, “I mean, I'm sure it's not that big of a problem. Just - just curious.”

“He looked so _human_ ,” Peter said. “He was just - some guy, like you'd see walking down the street. I don't know if you've seen Mr. Mercer’s, uh, ‘armor,’ but - I mean, I don't know. The Runner looked so human that when he started talking to me using his human...when he started talking like a human, I panicked. Stalled Mr. Mercer from killing him, and...he escaped.” He turned to look at Mr. Stark, trying to read his expression. “Did you know Mr. Mercer - Runners could do that? Just, totally pretend to be human.”

“What, like Alex tries to do day-to-day? I dunno if I'd call that ‘pretending,’ he's really far off the mark.”

“No,” Peter said. “No, they can do this - this _thing_ where they just - totally mimic a person. A real person that they consumed. Mr. Mercer showed me. He turned into a girl and, like - it _was_ just a teenage girl. If I had just bumped into her on the street I'd have been totally fooled, spidey sense or not. That's what the Runner did to trick me. But the thing is, I don't even really know if it was a trick, or if - or if Bryant Polinsky is really still in there. I don't know what to think.”

Tony let out a long sigh, readjusting his grip on the steering wheel. “Kid, ever since I met Alex, I've been feeling the same way. Dunno if that helps, but you're not alone.”

“Thanks,” Peter said. It did help, at least a little.

“How much did he tell you about himself? Guy likes to go on rants, so you might already have the full story.”

“He sort of did, I feel like, but he was really vague about it. Like, um. Is he or is he not Alex Mercer? I'm still not totally clear about that.”

“No, he's not,” Mr. Stark said, immediately. “No, OG Mercer was a grade-A psychopath. I guess this is basically a debriefing now, so: Alex Mercer was a Blackwatch scientist. He worked on the virus for them, made it deadlier. That big info leak from a few months ago, everything in it was true. Blackwatch was gonna nuke the city, yadda yadda. But it left out who actually broke the test tube with the virus in it, because Dana Mercer is the one who leaked it, and she's got a brother complex unfathomable by the human mind.”

Peter started. “Dana? She's in on it?”

“Kid, _she's_ the dangerous one. Germs might kill you if you make him mad but Spitfire there'll also make sure to slander your name after you die.”

“ _Dude_ ,” Peter said.

“I don’t know what's up with that family, but they're all stupid attached to each other,” Mr. Stark grumbled. “Anyway, the guy who goes by Alex Mercer now is what Blackwatch calls ZEUS. He's a strain of the virus that ended up crawling into the real Alex's body after Alex died. Got shot by Blackwatch. They also call new-Alex a Runner, but that's not totally accurate...neither is calling the other guy, the D-Code, one. But it's the closest descriptor we’ve got.”

“Mr. Mercer said the Avengers want him dead.”

Mr. Stark’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Not all of us,” he said. “Bruce has been on his side practically since day one. But, uh, yeah. Yeah.”  He sighed. “If Germs ever decides to let loose, that’s probably it for us as a species. Black Death: The Sequel. Looser censorship, translated for international audiences, and nothing we can do about it since I don't know if you've ever tried to punch the common cold, kid, but it doesn't exactly work out too well.”

Peter decided to change the subject, and not dwell on that too much. “Did you know the Runner would look like a normal guy?”

Mr. Stark took a long time to answer that.

“...Well, I guess I'd say it's not really a _surprise_ ,” he said, finally. “The other Runner we have on record - dead now, apparently Germs got her - looked like a perma-sorority girl. And, I mean, his acting leaves a lot to be desired, but most of the time Germs looks like Alex Mercer, y'know?”

His eyes glanced off the road for a second down at Peter, and then back up. “I hate to say it, but whatever Polio said about the Runner, he was probably right. As far as the virus is concerned, I don't think anyone knows it better than him.”

“Is it really alright, though?” Peter asked. “If the Runner is like Mr. Mercer is, if he can think and is sentient and everything.”

“You know, I asked him the same question,” Mr. Stark mumbled. “I said, if the Runner turns out to be like you, you know, generally not a homicidal maniac, maybe even a good guy, should we still kill him?”

“What'd he say?”

“He said yeah.” His eyes didn’t leave the street, but his gaze was far away. “And he said he thinks we're justified in doing the same to him. I’m not sure what to make of that - but that's his answer.”

“Oh,” Peter said, hollowly. “...I think I just need some time to think. Is that alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, absolutely,” Mr. Stark said. “Go for it. But we _are_ getting that Chipotle and you _are_ going to be eating.”

“Okay, sure,” Peter said. “...Thanks, Mr. Stark. I mean it.”

“No problem, kid,” he said.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO before i get a bunch of "bruce's backstory is not that"-type comments, let me make it clear that 1) i watched 2.5 marvel movies (the .5 is because I fell asleep halfway through one of them) and that 2) apparently MCU bruce's backstory was way watered down from his comics backstory (according to the wiki, anyway, which is where i get 90% of my knowledge on mcu characters). his comics backstory is WHACK but i was not writing bruce with that in mind, so unfortunately it just doesn't fit bruce as i have characterized him. which is too bad because frankly i love how whack it is. maybe in a different work.
> 
> also, oof, warnings for mercer mom and dana's opinions of her. she did not have a happy childhood and some readers may be sensitive to that.
> 
> SO YEAH please enjoy the chapter. smash that mf like button. ring that mf bell

He ignored his notifications for the rest of the day. Aunt May noticed something wrong, but when she realized she couldn't pry it out of him (in the first place, he still didn't really know what he thought of the whole situation, so there wasn't really anything to pry), she let him know that she was there if he needed to talk.   


He was pretty grateful for that, for being surrounded by people who cared. Even as he ignored the mounting red notification number, he felt glad that it was there.

He just needed some time to think, really. To go over all the evidence again, one more time.

Alex Mercer had been all but diagnosed with narcissistic personality disorder. When Blackwatch shut the project down, they started hushing up the scientists - dragging them into dark alleyways and shooting them dead. They shot Alex Mercer, too, when he tried to run, and as a final “screw you” he'd smashed the vial of Blacklight he'd been carrying and unleashed the world’s most dangerous virus on Manhattan.   


And that was how Mr. Mercer was made.

Make no mistake, he was terrifying. His origin story sounded like a cheesy horror B-movie monster, except it was  _ real. _ But…

His sister dragged him around fearlessly. Despite everything, she cared about him, and Mr. Mercer was softer and subdued around her - Peter thought he must care about her, too. Dr. Banner seemed to find him endlessly amusing, his own tired countenance brightening whenever Mr. Mercer did something especially bizarre or said something especially morbid and scary. These two clearly didn't take him seriously at all.

And his own experience with the man - gut-wrenching terror of the unknown aside - had fluctuated from negative to positive and back again. On one hand, Mr. Mercer had always been big, scary, and angry, manhandling Peter like Peter was a kitten, but on the other, Mr. Mercer had always trusted him with anything the adults could do. Whether that was genetic modification or fighting the Runner, and however things turned out, Mr. Mercer had always had faith in him.

He was lost in his thoughts for a good while, and just about to give up and message Ned back when Aunt May knocked on his door.

“Peter,” she called, “A man named Bruce Banner is here to see you?”

Peter bolted out of his bed, throwing on a pair of sweatpants and a clean shirt. “T - tell him I'll be right down,” he said. “He's - one of my bosses from work.”

 

* * *

Dr. Banner had come with a medical cough mask, still feeling a little under the weather, but not so much that he felt the need to drink half a bottle of cough syrup just to get through the day. He, too, seemed to relax when he saw Peter's unharmed state, letting his shoulders sag and his back slump back into his usual pose.

“I'll go get us refreshments,” Aunt May offered, excusing herself to give them some privacy.

“Hi, Dr. Banner,” Peter said, sitting across from him. “What's up? Uh, my shift doesn’t start until three-thirty, right?”

“Well, yes,” Bruce said, awkwardly. “But before that, I guess I wanted to come see how you were doing and, uh, say I was sorry. Tony filled me in on what happened and - I feel like it's my fault for what I said to you in the lab.”

“Oh, well, um…I was the one that ran out on my own, so…”

“No, no, it was the adults’ fault for not properly communicating. If you feel like you don’t want to come in anymore, just let me know. You've done stellar work up until now, so I'll make sure you get that letter of recommendation, but - “

Peter's head snapped up in alarm. “You guys are taking me off the project?”

“If you want to stay, we'd love to have you,” Dr. Banner said, quickly. “I just wanted to be clear that if, well, if you were uncomfortable working with Alex, we don't want to pressure you into it.”

Peter stared at him. The numbness that had been hanging over him since yesterday trembled and snapped, and suddenly he was out of his seat, frustration rising up his throat.

“The one who screwed up yesterday was  _ me _ , okay?” He snapped, Dr. Banner sitting with eyebrows raised in alarm. “There wasn't anything I could do because I didn't know enough about the situation. And look, alright, Mr. Mercer is a  _ terrifying _ guy, but he doesn't treat me like glass and I guess I appreciate that about him! I don't - none of these statements are connected, I'm just - I don't need to be  _ protected _ , okay? I just want to know what's  _ going on _ , so I can decide what to do for  _ myself _ .”

By the time he was done he was breathing hard,could feel the heat in his cheeks. He realized, a little too late, that he'd just blown up at Dr.  _ Bruce Banner _ , and while a part of him wanted to quietly beg for forgiveness, another part - the stronger one - refused to back down.

Dr. Banner stared at him for about a half-minute, before nodding and standing up, too.

“I can do that,” he said. “Would you like to grab lunch with me?”

 

* * *

“So you're going to have to bear with me, because microbiology is not my strong suit,” Dr. Banner began, after the waiter had taken their menus. They were in a hole-in-the-wall Thai place, tucked into a small booth in the corner. “And, um, I would really appreciate it if this stayed between you and me. Alex hasn’t explicitly told me he doesn't want Tony to hear about it, but...they aren't on the best of terms, and it may put Dana in danger if word reaches Blackwatch.”

Peter nodded, feeling the weight of the situation. He was nervous as much as he was excited, like he was finally - finally - being treated as a real part of the team, privy to the real secrets.

“Lips are sealed,” he promised. Dr. Banner nodded and took a deep breath in.

“So what Alex has told me - and if it sounds vague, I promise it's because Alex left it vague - is that Alex Mercer, the Blackwatch scientist, was making modifications to the virus that he did not tell Blackwatch about. Now, Alex won’t tell me what his end goal was, though I have my guesses, but he was never able to complete his research. Among Runners, Alex is an extremely special case - most notably, because his psychology is much, much closer to human than it is to other viral constructs.”

He paused to take a sip of his water, and Peter mirrored the action, waiting for Bruce to begin again.

“You see, whatever Alex Mercer was trying to do with the virus, he intended to be able to preserve and transcribe the host's mind. If completed, the virus would then self-destruct, leaving the original host consciousness intact. But what we got instead is a hybridization between the usual Runner viral hive queen mind and a working human brain: Alex is a viral consciousness whose mind works, on one hand, quite like a viral overmind, sorting through and controlling any of the thousands he's consumed, and on the other, entirely, fundamentally human in nature, with all humanity's trappings: self-reflection, sense of identity, empathy, anger, and guilt. In that sense, I actually think he's pretty unfortunate - but that might just be the sympathies of one monster to another.”

“If he's got a human mind,” Peter said, brow furrowed, “how come he acts, uh...how come he acts like _ that _ ?”

Dr. Banner mulled over the question.

“Not to be rude or anything.”

“No, it's a perfectly valid question. I'll admit I was put off at first, too. How to describe it...I know.”

From the side of the table he pulled out the salt and pepper shakers, setting them down on the space between them, glass clicking against the wood.

He raised the salt. “This...let's call him Bobby, and we'll call the pepper Charlie. So Bobby is a complete sociopath. He thinks everyone ought to be out only for themselves, and he's got an abject lack of empathy. He thinks human life is entirely expendable and doesn’t hesitate to throw others under the bus if it benefits himself. Now, Charlie here is the exact opposite. A...well, a bleeding heart. Someone so kind that it's a detriment. He's self-sacrificing to a fault, and is constantly being taken advantage of - but he's a very sweet guy. No one has a bad word to say about him. Are you with me so far?”

Peter nodded yes.

“Good. Okay, so let's say Alex eats both of them, so now he's got their consciousnesses floating around inside his brain. How does he decide which one's values are better for him to follow?”

Peter stared down at the table.

“I mean...Charlie’s the better person, right?”

“Well, how do you know that?”

Peter furrowed his brow. “I mean...I guess because I'd like to hang out with Charlie more than Bob.”

“But it's not a question of who you'd rather hang out with,” Bruce pointed out. “It's who you'd rather  _ be _ . So let me add a twist to this question. Bobby, as a result of his complete willingness to do anything to get ahead, is supremely wealthy and influential. In fact, he knows that the charity galas he attends for tax break reasons do, in fact, help thousands of the needy every year. Meanwhile, Charlie has been stuck in poverty ever since he left home, since he keeps opening his doors to people who screw him over. In fact, Charlie himself looks up to Bob, who has amazing PR. Who do you choose has the better values to follow?”

“I...I don't know. Empathy? Maybe? That's pretty built-in, right?”

“Somewhat. But people with working empathy ignore it all the time.”

Peter exhaled. This seemed like such an obvious question on the surface - of course Charlie was the better person, right? Even if he kept getting screwed over.

“Do you have an answer to this, Dr. Banner?”

“Well, I think you're actually on to something with empathy,” he said, allowing himself a wry grin at Peter's expense. “But I think the deciding factor would actually be experience - knowing that people like Bobby prosper in the short-term and for themselves, but that their existence is a long-term drain on society, and an eventual burden for everyone. Or that knowing Charlie would be fine if he could grow a bit of a backbone. The issue for Alex is this: he doesn't have any sort of frame of reference for choosing. In fact, the closest thing that he has is this.”

He tapped the top of the salt shaker. “Alex Mercer, the first human mind the virus ever imprinted on, was a Bobby. And so were many, many of the military personnel the virus wound up consuming. Everyone thinks of themselves as justified in their own beliefs. When Alex looks at the minds he's collected, it's always from those minds’ perspectives. Alex himself has only been alive for a few months; he's got opinions of his own on precious few topics, and everything else - if there's even a single voice telling him that something taboo is acceptable, he won't know who to believe. “

“Then, uh...then what are the things he  _ does _ believe?”

Bruce gave a rueful smile down at the wooden table. “Well, he spent the first three weeks of his life fighting both the military and the infection, all of whom wanted him dead. So, largely, that the infection is bad, that Blackwatch is bad, and that everyone wants him gone by default.” He paused for a moment, considering bis next words. “...If you show him that you don't mind him, or want him around, he latches onto that. I've never seen someone go so quickly from ‘doesn't care if I live or die’ to ‘would die for me, no questions asked.’ I guess I feel sort of responsible for him, now.”

“So...he's only a few months old?”

“Yes.”

“Is that why you and Dana keep treating him like a kid?”

Dr. Banner chuckled. “Well, that, and I think it's very funny. Once you figure out that his glare usually means he's completely confused about how he's supposed to be acting, he loses a lot of his scariness.”

“But he’s glaring _ all the time _ ,” Peter said.

“Exactly.”

 

* * *

Alex wasn't at the lab that day, or the next, Dr. Banner explaining that he was still out hunting but had given an ETA of another day or two, maximum. On one hand, Peter was still conflicted over whether that was the right thing to do, but on the other, he was a little relieved that the virus's presence wasn't felt around the lab for a while, and as a result he was able to freely chat with Dr. Banner.

Without Alex dragging him to the lab early, Dr. Banner ran late, clothes a mess and hair unkempt. Also without Alex breathing down his neck, Peter found talking to him to be much easier. The man was easygoing, but seemed to tire out quickly, apologetically telling Peter that he had trouble keeping up with younger folks when he started going quiet near the end of each workday.   


Peter had seen enough classmates with depression to know it when he saw it, though it was hard to accept at first that his hero - one of them, anyway - could even  _ be _ depressed. Dr. Banner didn't deny it when Peter brought it up, but ultimately, Peter felt like it wasn’t really his place to do any more than vaguely recommend therapy. It sucked, but there was little he could do - his powers were more suited for punching baddies than punching mental illness. For whatever it was worth, though, Dr. Banner didn't seem to be in any danger - generally, his mood seemed fine, and while his sense of humor was a little nasty, he was still a kindhearted guy.   


Peter was still pondering what he should say when he came in on Saturday morning, only to be stopped dead by that familiar tingle on the back of his neck that said danger was near. Dr. Banner was passed out on one of the desks, and next to him was Alex, looking not a bit dishevelled from his adventure in the Red Zone.

Only, Peter almost didn't recognize him at first. He was wearing a fully-buttoned floor-length labcoat, blue latex gloves, and safety goggles - the very picture of lab safety.

“Hi, Mr. Mercer,” Peter said, setting down his backpack. Alex acknowledged the greeting with a rough nod, focused on the samples he was working on.

“Thanks for keeping the cultures healthy while I was gone,” he said, gruffly.   


“No problem…” Peter trailed off. Normalcy wasn't really working, he decided with a sigh, so he might as well ask the burning question.   


“So, uh, what happened with the Runner? Did you…”

“Dead,” Alex confirmed. “Tony is pressuring Blackwatch to shut down the D-Code project. Minimal casualties.”

An awkward silence followed, broken when, out of nowhere, a gloved, too-warm hand came down on Peter's head, giving it two jerky, courtesy ruffles before removing itself.

“Everything is fine,” he said, in a stilted, careful tone. “There were no complications.”

Peter stared at him in disbelief for several seconds, Alex returning the look with a baleful glare, until finally Peter let out a shaky laugh. “Same here,” he said, wondering if maybe he should reach up to return the gesture. “So why are you dressed differently today?”

“I thought I was making you uncomfortable,” he said, turning back to his samples. Did he really? Peter was a little impressed that Alex had noticed at all. Unaware of Peter's unflattering thoughts, Alex continued in a gruff tone. “Want me to change back?”

“No,” Peter said, “I think this getup suits you pretty well. You actually look like the head of the lab now.” He eyed the costume again, noting how comfortably it sat on his body, as opposed to the I <3 NY shirt that had looked out-of-place and odd on his frame. “One thing, though. Have you ever considered styling your hair back? I guess you already look kind of like a supervillain, though, so maybe that's not a great idea. But it’s a little on the short side. No offense.”

Alex tugged at it. “None taken. Alex Mercer used to style it like that. I guess he knows how to handle it better than me. It was loose when he died.”

Oh, shoot. Did Peter just step on a landmine? "I mean, if you don't want to - “

“I can grow it a bit longer,” he said, sounding more thoughtful than angry. “If you think that'll help.”

“Uh, yeah, sure, we can try that,” Peter said, expecting him to have meant he was going to grow it out over several weeks and not instantaneously. It trembled, wiggled, and extended by about an inch, before settling back into a loose, messy waviness that made Alex look...to be honest, a little young. His features were still sunken and heavy and old, but the curly hair framing his face made him look more mid-twenties than late.

“That's a neat trick,” Peter breathed.

“Better?”

“Um, I think so. But maybe you should check in a mirror and see how you feel about it.”

“Bruce also said I should have hair more often,” Alex mumbled. He gave Dr. Banner a rough shake, startling him awake. He yawned and stretched, working out the stiffness in his back from sleeping in that position for so long.

“What's up, Alex?” He asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.   


“Your job,” Alex answered, frigidly. “Peter's here.”

“Oh, yeah, that. Hi, Peter.”

“Good morning, Dr. Banner.”

“Oh, hey, Alex. You grew your hair out.”

“Yeah. How is it?”

“You should decide that for yourself,” Dr. Banner said. “Especially since I'm no good at fashion. But I don't think it looks bad on you.”

“I’ll ask Dana,” Alex muttered.   


Dr. Banner gave one last yawn, pulling his own samples close. Suddenly, his eyes lit up.

“Oh, yeah, Alex, don't you have something to say to Peter?”

Alex thought about it.   


“I'm sorry for trying to kill you,” he said.

“No...no problem,” Peter replied, awkwardly.

“No, no,” Dr. Banner said, trying to hold back a laugh. “The other thing.”

“Oh.” Alex reached into his labcoat and pulled out an envelope, which he held out in Peter's direction. Peter took it, noting that it was still really warm from such close proximity to Alex's feverish body. It was neatly glued shut, the return address filled out with their lab’s in neat handwriting, his own name written with P’s so exact that they might have been machine-printed.

“What's this?” Peter asked.

“Your pay and back-pay,” Alex answered.   


Peter gaped for a good half-minute, not sure if he heard correctly, before tearing into the paper, pulling out a check written in the same neat penmanship, for almost fifteen hundred dollars.

“Oh my god,” he said.

“You'll be getting a new check on the second Saturday of every month. It'll be for less, since this one is for the last three months you’ve been working here.”

“Oh my god,” Peter said again.

“Now get to work,” Alex said, gruffly.

Acting on the purest of teenage impulses, Peter instead grabbed Alex around the stomach, hugging him tightly. Alex was, as always, feverishly warm, even through his labcoat, and didn't particularly smell like anything at all, and after a few awkward seconds, he wriggled his way out of the embrace.

“Thank you, Mr. Mercer,” Peter said, thinking of all the miscellaneous fixes and repairs around the house that they could now afford. “I mean it. Really.”

“Uh,” he said, still reeling from the hug. “Don't mention it.”

 

* * *

“So this is a game console,” Dana said, crouched down next to the entertainment center where Peter was hooking a Wii-U to the screen. She peered at it with her sharp, curious blue eyes, like she was inspecting an alien artifact. “I'd heard tell of it in legends, but never did I think I'd see one for real.”

Peter's shift didn't last too long, since he was only a part-time worker. He'd gotten directions to their apartment from Alex before he left. Alex and Dr. Banner got out at five, which was about three hours away, leaving Peter alone with Dana in the cozy apartment she shared with the virus.

And he had to say, and in fact  _ did _ say shortly after walking in, that it  _ was _ a really cozy place. As expected of a two-bedroom suite in Tony Stark's tower, it was extraordinarily spacious by NYC standards, and the walls were covered in maps and odd knick-knacks and art pieces that looked like they'd been picked up at small, local print conventions and gift shops. The fridge was decorated in magnets, a few souvenir NYC and New York ones like they sold at gas stations, a couple from the Bronx zoo. And the couches were absolutely littered with pillows and blankets, every millenial's dream.

“So I heard you found out my brother's secret,” Dana said, once they'd settled in and he was starting up the first game on their list. “And can I just say that I am  _ so _ sorry no one told you sooner? I mean, I thought you were just a kid who didn't have clearance, but  _ Spiderman _ of all people ought to know.”

_ You are my only ally, _ Peter thought.

“Thanks,” he said out loud.   


“How are you feeling about it? I mean, honestly, I'm kinda surprised you showed up today. I wouldn't have blamed you if you stood me up.” She paused for a moment. “Well, maybe a little.”

“I think I'm, uh, two parts relieved to finally know what's going on, and one part terrified. I mean, I was half-joking when I said to my friend that he was a threat to humanity?”

“Ha,” Dana laughed, with a bitter amusement. “Yeah, that's pretty much how it was for me, at first.”

“What changed?”

“Nothing, really...if I had to say, I had to get used to him. Didn't have a lot of options." For a moment, she seemed melancholic, her eyes dropping to her hands, but before Peter could react, she aggressively chased it away with a big, slightly too-tight grin. "I mean, I guess it's kind of like when a cat who hates everyone else really takes to you. You feel special.”

Clearly, she wanted to move on from that topic. Peter obliged.

“Could he really destroy the world?” he asked, realizing only after he'd said it that it wasn't much better than the topic before. But Dana didn't seem to mind  _ too _ much - although she did stop looking him in the eye.

“Yeah,” she said, an awkward admission. “Well, maybe not ‘destroy’ the world, but he can cock up humanity real good. I mean, not really Alex himself, so much?" She made a weird gesture with her hands, pantomiming a globe.

"Alex is really strong, but he's not invincible. It's really more about the virus...by itself, not counting Runners or other hive queens, it's a two billion estimated death toll once it breaks international borders. Alex just needs to cough maliciously at JFK and that'd be it.”

“Oh,” Peter said, actually feeling somewhat relieved. “I was actually worried he had some kind of doomsday super-attack.”

“I already told you, it's the cough.” She took on a joking tone, in an attempt to salvage the lighter mood from earlier. “The cough heard around the world.”

Peter laughed. A bit weaker than he’d have liked to, but he was comfortable moving on from the heavy topic if she was. “Oh, hey, I guess I did have one last question about him.” Or at least he was limiting himself to one last question.

“Shoot.”

“Why does he, uh, smile like that?”

Dana's grin became wry. “You mean, like a supervillain?”

_ She understands! _ “Yeah.”

“Dunno actually. It's always been that way, even before the outbreak. I’m trying to see if I can train it out of him, but, well…" She heaved a sigh. "He's actually  _ worse _ at smiling than my older brother was, and that's an accomplishment.”

“He’s a pretty gloomy guy, huh?”

“Less than you'd think. You know, lately, he's been downright cheerful.”

Cheerful and Alex were two words that didn't go together.

The game booted up, and Dana, fumbling with the controller, was poring through the roster. “You know, this is so weird. I've heard a lot of these names before, but it's my first time actually seeing them.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah. You're probably gonna laugh if I say this but I always thought ‘Zelda’ was the little green kid, not this hot babe.”

“Oh wow,” Peter said. “This is the first time I’ve ever met someone like that in real life.”

“Oh, shut it. You go to nerd school.”   


His spidey-sense tingled, but he wasn't able to move out of the way in time, and her play-shove felt like it could topple a grown man.

“Ow."

“Oh shit, I'm sorry,” she said, realizing what she'd done. “Peter, are you alright? I keep forgetting - I mean, this keeps happening. And here I make fun of Alex for being clumsy.”

“I'm fine, I'm fine. Spiderman. I'm pretty tough.” All the same, he scooted away, putting some distance between them.

Peter went with Wii Fit Trainer - mostly as a handicap, since this was Dana's first time playing. It largely went as well as any newcomer's first fight could be expected to go, but Dana was a quick learner, and Peter's Smash instincts were not significantly improved by his spider powers, so it wasn't long before she was keeping pace with him, even after he'd switched over to one of his mains.

The hairs raising on the back of his neck alerted him to Alex's return, and Dana took advantage of his inattention to spike him into the pit.

“Oh, no fair,” Peter said.

“Don't look away from the screen,” Dana said, grinning. Alex approached the sofa, silently and stalkingly as always.

“Smash 4?” He asked.

“Yeah,” Peter said. “Do you want to play? I brought a third controller.”

“Sure,” he said.   


Peter scooted over so Alex could squeeze in between them - Dana had not looked up, intent on pounding Kirby into dust.

“Hey, Alex,” she said, without letting up.

“Hi,” he responded, gruffly.

“Did you know Zelda isn't the little green elf kid?”

“Yeah.”

Dana sighed. “Guess that makes one of us.”

The round finally ended as Peter's narrow victory, and, disappointed, Dana leaned back into the cushions as Peter prepared player 3.

“Oh, you changed your hairstyle,” she said, brightly. “Was it your choice, or…?”

“Peter suggested it.”

“Ah.”

“Do you like it?”

“Do  _ you _ like it, Alex?”   


He grumbled and turned away.

“Okay, here you are,” Peter said, handing him the controller. “Do you need me to explain how to play?”

“No.”

“...Oh, right, yeah, absorbing minds. Some of them in there probably knew Smash, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Peter nodded. Alex was a stellar conversationalist, as ever. Dana laughed and elbowed her brother with one of those would-actually-injure-a-normal-human play-hits he'd apparently trained her into.

"Come on, dude, I know you've been looking forward to this. Show a little excitement!”

“He has?” Peter asked. He tried to picture it and came up empty. “You have?”

“When I told him you were coming over on Saturday, he started fretting about it  _ hardcore _ ,” Dana grinned.  “‘What kind of food does Peter like? Will he be staying for dinner? Does he have any allergies? No, wait, I'll just check the medical records he filed when he got the job.’ This fucking goober, am I right?”

“I don't sound like that,” Alex said, miffed. “What about you? You started cleaning up. Bought a Swiffer. And Febreeze.”

“Okay, one, you  _ know _ I've always wanted to own a Swiffer. The ads make them look so glamorous and upper-middle class. And two, if you hadn't been away in the Red Zone I know for a fact you'd have done the cleaning yourself.”

“...I can neither confirm nor deny this accusation,” he said, grumpily. He turned to Peter. “ _ Are _ you staying for dinner?”

The original plan had actually been no - he was still basically a stranger to these two and he hated imposing. Not to mention the fact that Alex was made up of a world-ending virus, and it was dubious how sanitary that was. But between the paycheck, Dana being the coolest person he knew, and Alex seeming almost human in their sibling bickering, he thought - what the hell.

“Sure. I'll eat anything, by the way. ‘Cept, uh, bell peppers.”

“Roger,” Alex said, turning his attention back to the screen. “What, uh. What character should I pick?”

Dana giggled. “You’re on your own, kiddo.”

 

* * *

So Alex picked Bayonetta, after an unreasonably long time hemming and hawing at the character select. He didn't seem to be capable of articulating the reasoning behind his choice, and Peter decided not to push it - though, honestly, by that point he was just glad they were going at all. Thank god he didn't also choose the stage.

And he was  _ horrible.  _ If Peter got caught in one of his combos, god could not save him, but Alex was so easy to read and had so many odd, bad habits that neither Peter nor Dana made that mistake more than twice in the whole match. First of all, blocking or dodging or even moving out of the way seemed like foreign concepts to him; second, he made a beeline for the nearest opponent, regardless of how poor a decision that may be.

Even Dana seemed surprised by how genuinely bad he was, having expected him to be supremely skilled from the get-go like he was at basically everything else. It was a different story for Peter, though. In his eyes, Alex fought in Smash the same way he fought in real life. Just that Bayonetta was not nigh-invulnerable the way he was.

He didn't actually seem too bummed out by his constant string of losses - or, Peter didn't think he did, but Dana alternated between giving him advice and trying to cheer him up. Nothing she said really ever seemed to take, though, and after about half an hour, Alex got up to start on dinner anyway.   


The scent of the marinade alone, when Alex opened the plastic wrap, was enough to make Peter salivate. He couldn't help sneaking furtive glances at the chef as everything else was prepared, and forty-five minutes later, Alex called dinner.

It  _ looked _ like restaurant food. It  _ smelled _ like restaurant food. Peter thought if he took a photo of it and posted it on Insta he’d immediately net a dozen followers. It had those weird plant sprig garnishes he'd only ever seen in Ratatouille and Iron Chef, and flecks of unknowable herbs dotted the rice and made it smell, well, heavenly. The whole presentation was so beautiful and hedonistic and rich that it took him several blank seconds to even recognize that they were just having pork chops on rice, sided with some kind of salad made out of greens he didn't recognize.

“Peter,” Dana said, poking at him with the back of a fork. “You look like you're about to cry.”

“I - I’ve had a long week,” he said.

“There are seconds if you want them. And thirds,” Alex said, glowering at his own plate. “I panicked.”

“Well, we're not the type to say grace at the table,” Dana said, loaded fork already halfway to her mouth. “What're you waiting for, Peter? Dig in.”

He nodded, dumbly, scrambling for his silverware. The moment he stabbed into the meat, it fell apart, juice leaking out and coloring the rice below.   


This was, without a doubt, the tenderest pork chop he'd ever had. It slid off the bone and melted on his tongue, the flavor of the marinade settled dark and deep. The rice caught all the juice, the herbs acting as tiny pockets of extra flavor. Spring greens, finely cut, had been tossed in, the crunch of it a contrast against the velvet meat and fluffy rice.

“Alex, this is great,” Dana said, mouth stuffed. “Sous vide?”

“Not enough time tonight,” he said. “I just cooked them normally.”

_ What kind of normally…? _

He hated to impose, but he couldn't help himself, asking for seconds, thirds, even fourths. Alex didn't seem to mind, getting up for Dana’s call for seconds, too, sinking back into his seat.

He was still listlessly picking at his meal, cutting small, careful portions. His salad sat untouched.

Dana must have noticed Peter staring, because she gave her brother a nudge and winced at Peter apologetically.

“He doesn't usually have what we have,” she explained. “Half the time he doesn't even eat with his mouth.”

“Oh,” Peter said, slightly bewildered. “I think I know what you mean. I think I saw him do it once.”

“My condolences,” Dana said, seriously.   


“Seriously, it's fine, though. I don't want to, um, keep you hungry if you're waiting for me to leave, Mr. Mercer.”

“I don't get hungry the same way you do,” he said, gruffly. “I grow a cancer culture inside my body, anyway. I can sustain myself for a long time on that.”

It was a testament to how bad his week had been that that was only the third weirdest thing he'd heard Alex say so far. At this point, he could only roll with it.

“Don't cancer cells still need food?”

“Yeah. I can just eat a bag of sugar. It's not a big deal.”

“I insist,” Peter said, genuinely feeling bad for him. Alex turned to Dana, who sighed and nodded, giving him her permission. As he got up to open the fridge, she turned back to Peter with a bitter grin.

“I hope you don't regret it,” she said, ominously.

Alex's preparations were obscured behind the counter, but Peter could smell fish. His eyebrows creased with concern, turning his attention back to his plate.

Alex returned to the table with a whole, raw bluegill, its scales and open, dead eyes glistening in the artificial light. It had been cut in half along its dorsal fin, and in between the two halves, like a sandwich, Peter could see some kind of white substance - either whipped cream or cream cheese - and yellow slices of cheddar. Through the top had been speared a fancy sandwich toothpick, with crinkled green cellophane, and as Alex finished covering it with a thick layer of powdered sugar, Peter realized with horror that he had been very lucky to have retained his human sense of taste across his spidey transformation.

The fish’s eyes were left uncovered by the sugar, and Peter could only watch, helpless, as they disappeared behind Alex's teeth.

“He calls it ‘Fish Cheese,’” Dana offered. “Betcha can't guess why.”

“I can't believe you're so used to it that you're able to joke about it.”

“Fish Cheese is one of the better ones,” Dana said, staring into the middle distance. “His other favorite is called Butter Steak…”

 

* * *

“Heya, Bruce,” Dana said, leaning over him. He started, jumping slightly out of his seat, and then sighed when he saw her.

“I see you’ve picked up Alex’s habit of sneaking up on people,” he said, sounding disappointed.   


It hadn’t been hard - he was engrossed in reading some kind of small-print report, hunched over their dining room table, and hadn’t heard Dana emerge from her bedroom. Plus, Alex had given her pointers in the past, and sometimes when they’d been really bored while hiding out from Blackwatch, she’d even let him coach her a bit. Incidentally, that was also why she knew basic self-defense, how to shoot, like,  _ every _ gun,  _ and _ three ways to kill or cripple a man with her bare hands (if only she had the muscle to back it up). She’d protested at the time that she didn’t need to know half that stuff, but it was kind of undeniably cool that she now did.

Alex had warned her that she was still inexperienced and lacked muscle structure, so it was still best for her to carry “chemical weapons” (he had then produced for her a bottle of police-grade mace) rather than rely on his lessons. Dana had called him a killjoy. The mace still sat at the bottom of her bag, and she was secretly hoping Tony would give her an excuse someday. In any case, she was glad to see that her guerilla training had tangible results.

Dana grinned. “Hey, sometimes I want to give it a try. Sorry about that, man.” She looked around. “Rare to see you without Alex; where is he?”

“He’s kicked me out of my room so he can clean it,” Bruce said. “Quite viciously, too. It’s not  _ that _ bad, but he seemed affronted by something in it.”

“Oh, he probably just needs something to do.”

“Mm.”

She was about to leave to go grab that glass of juice she’d left the comfort of her room for, when something on one of the papers Bruce was reading caught her eye.

“...That’s my brother’s dissertation,” she said, frowning. “What are you doing with that?”

“Oh, um…” Bruce quickly moved to put it away, sheepish. “I suppose I’m just a little curious about him, so I’m reviewing what little there is. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry. This is purely - scientific interest. I can stop if you’d like.”

Dana raised her eyebrows. Normally, she’d ask that he did, since her brother’s memory was tainted enough. But she knew Bruce, knew his circumstances, knew how much good he’d been doing for Alex. So instead, she walked over to the fridge and got herself that juice.

“We can talk about it in my room, if you’d like,” she said. “I mean, that dissertation’s not the only primary source around.”

 

* * *

She liked to imagine her room was cozy, even if Alex couldn’t appreciate it. She liked collecting souvenirs and knick-knacks, a trait that had driven her neat-freak older brother crazy back when they were kids sharing two halves of a cramped apartment. So a big cork bulletin board was stuck to the wall, covered in photos and flyers, charms and keychains were hung over the window like windchimes, and a denim jacket she owned for the sole purpose of collecting pins and patches was hung up in a place of honor on a coat hanger near the door.

Dana offered Bruce the swivelly office chair she used for her computer desk, and she took the bed, which, like the couch outside, was covered in blankets and pillows, nestled up against a wall.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she said, putting her glass on the nightstand. “I know I do.”

“...Then, excuse me,” Bruce said, sitting himself down. The chair creaked under his weight, and he settled in comfortably, manila folder resting on his lap.

When he seemed at ease, Dana was the first to speak. “So...my older brother, right? What are you curious about?”

“Oh, um, well.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I suppose I’m interested in the kind of person he was. I mean, I’ve gotten conflicting reports. Alex claims his mind uses the original’s as a template, you’ve claimed they’re nothing alike...er, I don’t know if you know this, but Blackwatch also had a psychological profile of him.”

“No kidding,” Dana said. “What do you need the dissertation for, then?”

“...It just feels like an incomplete picture,” he mumbled. “Even if I know the ‘what,’ I don’t know the ‘why.’ It bothers me, but I didn’t feel like I could ask.”

“Well, shit, man, you can always  _ ask _ ,” Dana said. “Lemme guess - that report wasn’t flattering?”

“‘Unflattering’ may be the nicest word that can be used, yes.”

“Ha,” she said, smile growing wry. “Yeah, that sounds like him. Hey, can you get me a copy? I mean, I get I can’t have anything classified, but…”

“I don’t know if Tony would let me,” Bruce said. “But I can ask.”

“Thanks, man. Seriously.”

She sighed and leaned her head back against the wall.   


“My older brother...shit. You know, it’s been so long since I’ve talked about him. When Alex is around, I try not to bring him up. So what has it been, months? Months, I guess.”

Her knees pulled up to her chest.

“In the whole wide world, I think the only one who would defend the bastard is me,” Dana said. “That’s the kind of person he was, see? The kind where no one else would take his side.”

 

* * *

The first memory she ever had of Alex was of his back. She was four, maybe, and he was thirteen, carrying her home from preschool because she’d tripped and scraped her knee. If she cried, she couldn’t remember anymore. What she did remember was the bloodstain left on the cuff of his shirt that wouldn’t wash out for days.   


“Dumbass,” he’d mumbled, diluting the last bit of rubbing alcohol with water to make it last. They didn’t have cotton balls so they’d used napkins, torn into little pieces and pressed against the wound. For a band-aid, scotch tape and tissues.

“Go whine to the nurse at your school tomorrow,” he’d instructed her. “And if she looks away, grab some extra band-aids for home, okay?”

“Okay,” she’d said, nodding. In the end, she never had the chance.   


Older brother. Big brother. Alex.

Everything that she was had been shaped by that one constant in her life. He taught her how to survive in a hostile world. Sometimes, to make it easier, she liked to think of the virus Alex as her big brother returning to protect her from beyond the grave. Even though she knew, factually, that he probably wasn't even thinking about her in those final moments that birthed new-Alex, some part of her still wanted to believe in him.   


“Motherfucking stupid assholes.”

He came home from high school swearing. He hated everyone there, and that was no secret; the teachers had long given up on their classes, and the students, for the most part, were doomed before they even began. But he had always had his sights set higher.

Perfect score on every standardized test. StuCo pres, even if that was a completely empty position at their shithole alma mater. Gaming college scholarships against each other. He rolled in accolades and recommendations, awards and titles, but it was never enough. Something in him was wary and wounded and empty, and he attacked life like he was starved for it.

“He wasn’t ever a good person,” Dana said. “I mean, neither am I, really. He’d always say we couldn’t afford it.”

“I think you’ve been a good person.”

Dana snorted. Bruce had been through some shit - she'd gotten the full story from her baby brother, who couldn't keep any secrets from her - and it impressed her how much he still managed to care about other people. That instinct had been burned out of her and her brothers from long ago. Because, after all, they couldn't afford it.

“Thanks, Bruce, but I’m only a good person when you put me up against my brothers or Blackwatch. The bar's so low, it's underground.”

She glanced down at the pattern on her bedding, a bitter smile on her face. “You know, what always bothered me was that I barely ever knew anything about him, even though he basically raised me."

Bruce cocked his head. "He raised you?"

"Yeah, I mean - we're nine years apart." Bruce was smart enough that he'd probably have pieced together that her brother had done a lot for her in the place of their alcoholic, drug-addled mother, but the extent of it wouldn't have made it into any report.

"Mom, she...pardon my language." Dana grinned. "Mom was a bitch, a whore, and a piece of shit."

Bruce stiffened at the word choice, and Dana almost wanted to laugh. "Sometimes Alex got more creative with it, but I always liked the short version. Sums it up pretty well. I'm amazed I wasn't born addicted to something, and Alex always told me that was just because mom couldn't afford drugs in jail. The only good thing that bitch ever did for me was re-adopt Alex so he could babysit. I don't think I'd have survived if he wasn't there."

Bruce - sweet, harmless Bruce - is this too much for you? Well, although he was surprised at the frankness of her language, he didn't seem too shocked for words, which would have been the normal reaction. That could only mean that he'd been intimately familiar with "bad" - Dana perked up, interest piqued.

"Hey," she said. "Before I go on, I want some collateral."

"Collateral?" he asked.

"Yeah. Just some incentive for you not to tell." She smiled gently at him. "What happened to you?"

He dropped his gaze, dodging the question. "Well, it's...not a story I really like telling."

Of course. Bruce was gentle at heart, after all. Unlike her and her brother, who'd been born with liquid nitrogen instead of blood. He got hurt. He  _ was _ hurt. It was nice, actually, being surrounded by nice people who still had the capacity to be hurt by others. She felt a little bad for prying.

"I won't judge," Dana said, because she had no room to even if she wanted to. She gave an easy excuse. "I'm just curious, you know - journalism student. But since you've got my tragic backstory, you don't need to worry about me publicizing yours."

Bruce gave a grim, bitter chuckle. "Is that so?" he asked. "You absolutely swear?"

"Well, no absolutes, but...it's not like I need the money right now or anything."

He let out a breath, forcing the tension in his muscles to go.   


"You know," he said, "I can't decide if it's refreshing or off-putting that neither of you are scared of me."

She could only give him a mysterious smile in response to that. What threat could he or the Hulk possibly pose? Naturally, Alex had told her about Bruce’s secret about as soon as he’d learned it himself. If it was just physical pain, then the Blacklight virus was a far more gruesome way to die. There wasn't a point in being scared of a sad old man, and that was what Bruce was to her.

Bruce let out another long breath, leaning against the table.

"It's not a lot," he admitted. "My mother was a - a kind person, but meek, you know. My dad was...well, he definitely ruled the roost."   


He gave a weak laugh, and Dana gave him a blank cock of the head. She was familiar with that kind of downplaying, where you said a little to mean a lot. If she kept him talking, he'd probably elaborate.

"I was never his idea of a 'man,'" Bruce continued. "I mean, I did try, really. Even joined the football team in high school, but they benched me so hard I think I only ever saw the field once."   


He looked forlornly out the window. "...He was also a drunk. He was distant sober and...well, violent otherwise. I think something about my smarts just...set him off. Even then, I wanted to make him like me, you know, the way kids do."

"Mhm," Dana said.

Bruce gave a lost shrug, turning back to her with a wry smile. "Then, while I was working on the project that turned me into a monster, he died. I only got the news - weeks later. Mom passed a few years before that, though they'd separated by then. And that was that."

"Cleanly tied up, huh."

"I suppose so." He chuckled. "You know, until now I was under the impression that you really were a good person. Not even any words of sympathy?"

Dana laughed, too. "Sorry, I'm too busy feeling sorry for myself. You  _ want _ some sympathy?"

He waved his hand, because of course he didn't. They were already way past the point of sympathy. "No, no. Again, it's just hard to tell if it's refreshing or off-putting."

Dana smiled at him. Yeah, she could totally understand why Alex liked him - and she was glad they got along. She gave a stretch, popping the joints in her arm, settling into a comfortable position.

"Well, as promised. Our family situation, right? Me, mom, and Alex. I mean, Alex is my source on a lot of this, and he was really biased, but...according to him, dad was some married guy that mom was hopelessly pining for. Successfully, a couple times. She had us because she thought we'd be good leverage, but that never worked out for her, because she was a crazy drunk bitch. And I mean - " Dana emphasized each word. "A crazy. Drunk. Bitch."

Bruce nodded with eyebrows raised.   


"I never really got the worst of it, because Alex liked to throw himself between us. I never liked her. But my brother...he  _ hated _ her."   


She remembered his frail, tiny back trembling as he took their mother's blows, the ferocity in his eyes as he glared at mom's retreating back, the sticky, tacky feeling of his blood as he entreated Dana to help bandage him up. The feeling of his bruised hands ruffling her hair, assuring her that she was fine and he was fine, that their mom was insane, that he'd keep her safe.

"Our story tied up pretty neatly, too," Dana said.   


Last she heard, mom was in deep with debts and dues, and not much longer for being a free woman. The orchestration of her downfall had Alex's vindictive fingerprints all over it, and Dana wouldn't have been his sister if she'd thought any more or less than that mom was reaping what she sowed.

"She died about a year after I left for college," Dana lied, easy as breathing. "For all that she hated us, I guess she couldn't really live without us, either."

She laughed. "Like I said, a crazy drunk bitch."

"I see," Bruce said. At a loss for words, because he was a good guy, and good people never knew what to make of something as ugly as this.   


"He did a good job, or at least as good as he could've. We were dirt poor, but I don't ever remember going hungry or not having clothes to wear. And I ended up a scholarship student, right? Not bad for someone whose high school has a fifty percent dropout rate."

"Not bad at all," Bruce concurred.

"That's...really everything," she said. "After he left for his job when I was fifteen, I didn't see him again for five years. He ghosted me - didn't answer my calls, didn't return my letters, nothing. Not until he showed up at my door, ranting and raving about how his workplace was evil, that he needed my help."

And how could she turn him down? She owed him her life.

Bruce seemed surprised. "No contact at all?"

"Nope. Not even a little bit."

"That's…"

Incomprehensible to normal people, probably. Well, Bruce could probably understand it if he tried - how someone could invest so much into a family member and then forget them entirely. The answer was that you didn't. Not totally, not completely, not in any way that mattered.   


"Think about it like this," Dana said. "Even though we didn't speak for five years, and I never actually told him where I was staying since I was fresh off a stint of couch surfing, he knew exactly where to find me."

Just like how she knew where he lived, even though he'd never written to her about it.

That was how they - two abnormal people - cared about each other. Her brother was a neurotic, paranoid mess of a person hiding under a slick veneer, and she was his only ally.

"It's you and me against the world, Dana."

That was how she remembered him. Even if he was a monster and she had always known, in her eyes he would always be her big brother, a cut above all the rest.

"Did you get enough for your bigger picture?" Dana asked, acting cheeky. Bruce gave a sharp exhale and nodded.

"Yes, I think so." He paused. "Er, thank you...I hope I wasn't prying."

"It's fine," Dana said. "I mean, we hold each others' weaknesses now. What do you call it? Mutually assured destruction?"

He snorted. "Yes, something like that. Is that a threat?"

"Only if you tell."

"I suppose I have no choice, then. Lips sealed."

There was a knock on the door at that moment, and Dana got up to answer it before Bruce could move. Alex was standing in the doorframe, too close, his countenance as grim as usual. His eyes flickered over to Bruce.

"I'm done. Go look," he ordered, stiffly, and Bruce took the cue to gather his things and leave, giving Alex a perfunctory "thank you" as he did so. That left him and Dana alone in their apartment, with Alex clenching his hands at his sides, his tell for when he had something to say and no words to say it with.

So Dana obliged him instead.

"How long've you been listening?"

Alex glanced down at her with crystal-blue eyes. She'd always been jealous of her brother's eyes - hers were blue, too, but tinged with green, muddy. His were as clear as a Disney princess's in comparison.

"For a while," Alex admitted. "Starting from 'mom was a bitch.'"

And if she knew him, he'd spent the whole time standing in his awkward, stiff pose, arms to the side. She motioned for him to come in, and he closed the door behind him, although he didn't take a seat even as Dana flopped back onto her bed.

"What are you thinking, Alex?"

He was usually either extremely, hilariously blunt, or unwilling to talk at all. Right now was one of those unwilling-to-talk times, and Dana was reminded of plying a six-year-old by asking them step-by-step what was wrong.

Alex looked away as he spoke. "Your brother, he...didn't lie to you. As far as he knew, he was telling the truth."

"Huh?"

"About mom...your mom's history."

"Oh." She didn't fail to notice the substitution of words, but frankly, she wasn't qualified to tell him whether or not he was allowed to refer to the crazy bitch as his own mother. She didn't really see why he'd even want to. But she could appreciate his awkward, fumbling words, trying to show that he cared.

"Thanks, Alex."

"Mhm," he grunted.

"Hey, c'mere."

Obediently, he trudged over to her bedside, his arms crossed and his body still held stiff and tense and awkward. She grinned and reached up, ruffling his hair like her brother had done to her so many times in the past.

"My baby brother makes the best food, cleans the house, and takes good care of others," she said. The last one was debatable, but at least he tried for Dana, and in her book, he got points for trying. He snorted, unamused.

"You're just taking the piss."

"No, taking the piss would be if I said you were a social butterfly and everyone loved you. Are you a social butterfly?"

"No," he said, almost too fast.

"Do you do the chores?"

"Yeah."

"And my big brother was a bastard," Dana said. "Are you a bastard, Alex?"

"Yeah," he said, and Dana laughed.

"Best baby brother a girl could ask for."

He stared at her with that blank, vaguely menacing look he always wore, and then, to her surprise, he moved to where she was sitting and lowered himself next to her. Dana stiffened as he approached, at this point relatively desensitized to his weirdness, but still nervous about him acting out of character. She froze as he wrapped his arms around her.

Was this...a hug?

He was barely putting any pressure on her at all, his clothes lightly brushing against her skin. He held it a few seconds longer than awkward (for a move that was already very awkward to begin with) before letting go and standing back up with a scowl on his face.

"What was that about?" Dana asked. Her baby brother was so unfriendly and gruff that it was hard to imagine he was actually trying to show affection in such a normal way. But Alex always managed to surprise.

"It was supposed to be a hug," Alex muttered, dissatisfied with his own performance.

"Uh-huh…?"

"Peter did one to me earlier today," Alex said, with the same enunciation usually reserved for someone attempting to kill him. He folded his arms. "It weirded me out. Still don't get it. Sorry."

She should have known it wasn't his idea. All the same, wasn't that just the most adorable thing? If you ignored that he was a potential viral apocalypse waiting to happen. Which, luckily, Dana could do.   


"I appreciated it," she said, "for whatever it's worth."

"Mhm," he grunted, sounding like he didn't believe her at all. 


End file.
